


Splashes of Colour

by ihatsu



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Follows movies to begin with, I'm not sure if this will have a happy ending, Let the angst continue, Light Angst, M/M, Minor Queenie Goldstein/Jacob Kowalski, Minor Theseus Scamander/Leta Lestrange, Neither of them want this at first, Soulmate AU where everyone sees black and white, Soulmates, but things change, then diverges
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-26
Updated: 2019-05-28
Packaged: 2019-09-28 00:43:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 23,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17172605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ihatsu/pseuds/ihatsu
Summary: Newt's world is shades of grey like so many other people and when he is arrested at MACUSA by Graves, suddenly his world is bursting with colour. He can't help but think that his soulmate is the one who's about to sentence him to death.





	1. Shades of Blue

All Newt has known is shades of grey.

When he looks in the mirror, his skin is light grey, eyes grey, curly hair grey. It is so monotonous and boring, but he knows he is not alone in this world who suffers from the same symptom.

It is so rare that a person meets their intended soulmate; too many humans on Earth and the probability of  bumping into  _ the one _ is infinitely small. But he hears whispers, gossip, old wives’ tales of the unusual ones that have and the stories tell of life suddenly having meaning and colour (such a foreign word on his tongue). As a child, the young wizard blushed at the thought of coming across such a wondrous opportunity, but as he ages, he realizes that such childlike fancies are merely that. He lets go of the hope that one day he would meet his soulmate.

Of course, when one least expects it, these things have a tendency to hit oneself in the face with the speed and ferocity of a charging Hippogriff. Years later when he is 29 years old, he is standing hunched over in an attempt to shrink underneath the gazes of many important wizarding figures. Picquery commands his case full of creatures to be impounded and immediately, it gets summoned into Graves’ awaiting hands without a single word escaping his lips.

“Wait, no,” Newt begins and starts to reach for his wand in the inner pocket of his coat, “Give that back--”

“Arrest them.” Picquery declares. Graves sees the magizoologist’s hand reaching for something and his free hand is immediately there to prevent any further action on the British’s part with powerful wandless magic as he forces Newt back in the air and then onto his knees on the cold tiles in the depths of MACUSA’s headquarters, arms clasped behind him in some sort of binding spell to prevent him from resisting arrest. 

“Don’t hurt those creatures. Please, you don’t understand.” Newt rambles, pleading, “Nothing in there is dangerous. Nothing.”

“We’ll be the judges of that. Take them to the cells.” Picquery’s tone carries such utter finality in it that the British magizoologist’s heart clenches in fear.

“Don’t hurt those creatures! There’s nothing-- nothing in there is dangerous!” Newt’s voice becomes increasingly frantic as he goes on, dragged further and further away from his beloved creatures, “ _ Please _ don’t hurt my creatures! They aren’t dangerous! Please, they’re not dangerous!”

* * *

Hours pass and now Newt is seated in a drab room, scarce of any decorations. The chair he occupies is relentlessly cold, which he feels biting through his wool clothes. Tina is still chained behind him with two female Aurors standing guard. Her eyebrows are drawn up in fear and worry. The freckled man flexes his wrists after the chains come loose. Across the metal table, Graves stares at him and Newt refuses to make any sort of eye contact with the Director.

“You’re an interesting man, Mr. Scamander.” Graves utters, but before he can continue, Tina interrupts him.

“Mr. Graves…”

Percival shushes her with a finger to his lip and shakes his head in disappointment. Properly chastised, she retreats to her former position.

Graves sighs, exasperation from Tina’s actions plain as day in his voice, and examines the papers detailing Newt’s past, “You were thrown out of Hogwarts for endangering human life--”

“That was an accident.”

“-- with a beast. Yet one of your teachers argued strongly against your expulsion. Now, what makes Albus Dumbledore so fond of you?” Newt detects a hint of aggravation contained within this question. He doesn’t comprehend why his answer would be relevant to the situation at hand.

He quietly responds, regardless, shaking his head, “I really couldn’t say.”

“So, setting a pack of dangerous creatures loose here was--” The dark-haired man pauses for a brief moment, gesturing wildly to rest of the room, “-- was just another accident, is that right?”

“Why would I do it deliberately?”

“To expose wizard kind. To provoke war between the magical and non-magical worlds.”

“Mass slaughter for ‘the greater good,’ you mean.”

“Yes. Quite.” Graves leans forward, trying to catch his gaze and eager to hear the response. His pale hands seize Newt’s recently freed ones. The sensation is surreal when their skin comes into contact, an electrical shock passes between them; he can feel his magical core humming in bliss, and the next time Newt blinks, his world of grey is suddenly no longer. He can’t help but stare at the dark-haired man in front of him and takes in the room he’s in. It’s almost like he’s still seeing ashen tones, but that can’t be, because his coat is definitely not.  _ It’s blue _ , his mind supplies automatically.

After a moment, he is able to compose himself and states, “I’m not one of Grindelwald’s fanatics, Mr. Graves.”

A slow smirk spreads across the other’s face. The only indication that the other man is affected by their contact is the slight widening of his eyes, but they return to normal much quicker than Newt's. He's lucky that he's facing away from Tina because he has never been good at schooling his features or lying for that matter. His palm is still placed upon Newt’s, providing a firm pressure that seems to ground him in reality for the moment. “You see, somehow I doubt that, Mr. Scamander.”

In another feat of wandless magic, he calls forth the Obscurus contained within a bubble, black mist jerking and swirling aggressively at the edges of the charm.

“No, no, it isn’t-- it isn’t what you’re thinking of! I managed to separate it from the Sudanese girl months ago, but- but it was-- I just wanted to take it home and study it. It cannot survive outside of there, it cannot hurt anyone in this form, not without its host.” The curly redhead glances nervously at the American witch behind him, he does not want Tina to think ill of his intentions.

“Then it’s useless without the host.”

“‘Useless?’ That is a parasitical force of magic that  _ killed _ a child, what on Earth could you  _ use _ it for?” Wide green eyes are peering into dark brown depths of the man sitting across from him, attempting to dissect his words for an ulterior motive. Sable eyes shift nervously from side to side, for the first time, Graves is the one eluding eye contact.

There is a lull in the conversation.

“You fool nobody, Mr. Scamander. You brought this Obscurus into the city of New York in the hope of causing mass destruction, breaking the Statute of Secrecy, and revealing the magical world. You are guilty of treason to your fellow wizards and are, therefore, sentenced to death. Miss Goldstein has aided and abetted you.” At these words, Graves rises from his seat and directs the two witches to escort Tina and himself to the execution room.

“Wait, what--” Newt tries to reason, as the blonde witch approaches him and places a wand at the base of his neck, “No, she’s done nothing of the kind! She- she has nothing to do with this!”

“She is your accomplice, Mr. Scamander, and she shall receive the same punishment as you. Just do it immediately, I will inform President Picquery myself.” He dismisses the two Aurors with a wave of his hand and brings said hand to rub his temple. The tall woman sobs loudly, tears staining the apples of her cheeks. Graves shushes them, ostensibly smug. “Please.”

Newt should be horrified and disgusted at the corruption that runs through MACUSA’s hierarchy, but all that he can think about is the fact that his soulmate is the one doing the sentencing.

* * *

 

The newly crowned fugitives manage to escape with Queenie's help and Newt's expanded suitcase. The whole ordeal with finding Dougal, and subsequently with the Occamy, through Gnarlak’s intel is interesting to say the least, but at least now, MACUSA can’t possibly blame any of Newt’s creatures for wreaking havoc on the city. 

After chasing the Obscurial around Manhattan, its identity is revealed to be the young Barebone boy that Tina had defended. The British man is still reeling from discovering his soulmate at such an inopportune time, but he has something more important eating away at his mind: finding and helping Credence. Newt tracks the Second Salemer to the subway tunnels, his misty form clinging to the ceiling.

“Credence?” The Scamander takes refuge behind a pillar, talking to the Obscurial over his shoulder. His voice is more even than it should be after constantly Apparating and sprinting. “It is ‘Credence,’ isn’t it? I’m here to help you, Credence. Listen, I’m not here to hurt you.”

The curly-haired wizard takes a chance and peeks out from cover; he sees that the Obscurial form is no longer twisting in agony and rage, but its movement is more of a smooth glide through the space, and that spurs him to approach. He continues repeating the other's name, believing it to be some sort of comforting mechanism.

“I’ve met someone, just like you, Credence. A girl, a young girl, who had been imprisoned, she’d been locked away and she’d been punished for her magic.” Credence’s body starts to reform from the fog, eyes red, and tear tracks evident on his face.

“Credence, can I come over there?” Newt looks hopeful as he tiptoes forward. He repeats the question again, “Can I come over there?”

Credence doesn’t reject him -- he doesn’t say anything -- but before he can get any closer, the white flash of a spell, which he barely manages to cast a shielding spell against, forces Newt back and he lands roughly on the subway tracks. When he looks up, he can see the black-haired teenager running in the opposite direction of Graves, who had just appeared from the darkness of the tunnel. The Director hurls a couple more explosive curses at the magizoologist, but he manages to evade them by rolling out of the way, before ducking behind another pillar. He throws a counter spell at Graves, which is easily deflected.

When Credence is backed into a corner with nowhere else to go, the older man sends impressive bolts of lightning at him, but Newt leaps in front of the boy to protect him. Graves -- indignant, hateful, and outraged -- flings flash after flash of electricity at the freckled wizard, which are weakly warded off and cast aside.

“I never thought that one day I would stumble upon my soulmate.” The black-haired American exclaims, anger apparent in his voice. He laughs ironically. Newt is silent in fear and concentration as he defends the two of them. The moment he looks back over his shoulder at the boy, Graves takes advantage and spells the railway tracks alive to propel him back, before assaulting him with charged shots. Newt writhes on the ground, energy searing painfully throughout his frame.

“Do you know _why_ I sentenced you to death? I didn’t want to accept that my _soulmate_ would be such a _pathetic_ , _nervous_ _wreck_ like you are!” His voice echoes as it gains in volume, causing the younger to violently flinch. The attacks come relentlessly now and he can’t protect himself properly from the ground. “Do you _know_ who I am?”

The green-eyed male doesn’t have the faintest idea. He doesn’t get a chance to respond because Credence’s emotions begin to take over, triggering his transformation into the Obscurial once more. The black cloud looms over top of Graves, who merely whispers his name, pushing for obedience and trust, but the boy knows no such thing and dives down. Both Newt and Graves manage to Apparate out of the way several times as the Obscurus does its best to kill the two of them. Just as the dark smoke poses in waiting over both of them, lying on the ground, Tina rushes in, her words as hurried as she is, “Credence, no! Don’t do this. Please.”

The furious swirling slows down to a stop.

“Keep talking, Tina, keep talking to him. He’ll listen to you. He’s listening.”

“I know what that woman did to you. I know that you’ve suffered. You need to stop this now. Newt and I will protect you. This man, he’s using you.” The eldest Goldstein sister tries to explain, her voice faintly fluctuating from the emotions she is barely repressing after coming face-to-face with Credence again.

“Don’t listen to her, Credence. I want you to be free. It’s alright.” Graves shoots her a nasty glare as he talks. The black fog ceases its churning, listening to reassuring words, but unsure of whom to believe.

“That’s it.” Tina coaxes and Credence has almost calmed down, until waves of Aurors run down the steps with MACUSA’s President at the forefront.

Tina whips around and pleads to them because she sees them with their wands drawn, “Shh! Don’t, you’ll frighten him.”

“Wands down! Anyone harms him, they answer to me!” It’s the most agitated anyone has seen Graves, eyes wide and frantic, hair awry, and flecks of dirt decorating his elegant clothes.

None of the new arrivals listen to either of them and start shooting spell after spell at the Obscurus. Newt can hear the anguished screaming of the Second Salemer boy and he has to cover his ears, yelling at everyone to stop, but the onslaught shows no signs of stopping. Finally, the smoke dissipates and only faint tendrils are left suspended around the opening in the tunnel. Newt picks himself up from the ground, dust covering his peacock blue jacket, a somber and heartbroken look adorning his soft features.

“Credence…” Graves mutters as he climbs up onto the platform, staring wistfully at the remains of the terrified boy. “Fools, do you realize what you’ve done?”

“The Obscurial was killed on my orders, Mr. Graves.”

“Yes, and history will surely note that, Madam President. What was done here tonight was not right.”

“He was responsible for the death of a No-Maj. He risked the exposure of our community and he has broken one of our most sacred laws.” Picquery counters.

“A law that has us scuttling like rats in the gutter. A law that demands that we conceal our true nature, a law that directs those under its dominion to cower in fear, unless we risk discovery. I ask you, Madam President-- I ask all of you, who does this law protect? Us?” Graves points upwards, indicating he is talking about the non-magical people. “Or them? I refuse to bow down any longer.”

Madam Picquery requests an Auror under her command to relieve Graves of his wand, but then a short-lived battle ensues between the multitude of MACUSA’s wizards and the Director. A couple of Aurors fall, defeated by the powerful man and the President’s face shows her underlying horror at the behaviour of  the man she had considered her friend. At this point, everyone knows that something is terribly wrong. Newt unleashes the Swooping Evil hiding up his sleeve and binds Graves, stopping him dead in his venture and driving him to his knees, positions reversed from a couple of hours ago.

“ _ Accio _ !” Tina says, grabbing the sleek ebony wand out of the air. The pair slowly walk towards the restrained man, the redhead holding his wand out in front of him, a charm on the tip of his tongue.

“ _ Revelio _ .”

Graves’ features melt away and in his place, is none other than Gellert Grindelwald. The British wizard’s face is crestfallen; his fate could not have turned out worse. He had thought Percival Graves to be an abhorrent man, sneaking around and manipulating Credence, and yet, the rising Dark Lord is infinitely more horrendous.

_ Grindelwald is his soulmate. _ Newt wants to break down, to cry, to scream his lungs out so that he can’t feel anything anymore, but he cannot do that here in front of this many people. He tries his best to contain his emotions, slightly trembling at the amount of effort it takes.

“Do you think you can hold me?” Grindelwald questions the American dark-skinned woman, a lilt of amusement colouring his tone.

“We’ll do our best, Mr. Grindelwald.”

Even as he is being guided out of vicinity, the pale coloured man stops in front of where Newt is standing, head cast downwards. Feeling the Dark wizard’s gaze on him, Newt hesitantly catches his eyes -- one dark and feels like he's drowning at the bottom of a lake, and the other a luminescent light blue, sparkling with passion and life -- colours he can see all too well now. “Will we die, just a little?”

A knowing smile stretches over his lips and the redhead shivers.


	2. Shades of Green

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Waahhh thank you so much for all the love and support, you guys ;w; (No, but seriously, this is the fastest I've ever written chapters, and a 3rd chapter is already in the works?!)
> 
> Hope you enjoy this chapter! I live for comments and kudos <3

With Grindelwald in custody, the most pressing problem at hand is that all the No-Majs in one of the most populated cities of the world have seen something that cannot simply be explained away as gas leakages or accidents of nature. The wizarding community in New York has been exposed and Madam Picquery states as much. It is not possible to Obliviate an entire city.

However, Newt is quick to disagree and offers a solution using Frank the Thunderbird and a vial of his Swooping Evil's diluted venom. A little while later, MACUSA's President sends an apologetic smile his way and says, “We owe you a great debt, Mr. Scamander. I hope it isn't too inconvenient if I request your help on one more issue.”

The most powerful witch in America explains that the Aurors require his help in tracking down the original Percival Graves, to which Newt readily accepts. The outlook isn't particularly optimistic, since anyone who has come into Grindelwald's custody is not likely to have survived. Picquery quickly reminds their rag tag group that their No-Maj friend has yet to be Obliviated and that there can be no exceptions. They bid a fond farewell to the stocky man, after exchanging warm, comforting words with him, and he voluntarily steps into the rain with a chaste kiss from Queenie. They will miss him dearly. When he returns back to his senses, he is soaked and his memories of the past days are wispy and faded; his forgotten friends have vanished from sight.

Newt and the Goldstein sisters are back at the Woolworth Building. Queenie is busy drying her eyes, which are still damp from crying, as discreetly as possible, while Tina is off discussing the Dark wizard’s confinement with some high-ranked MACUSA officials, including Madam Picquery. The dark-haired sister, in the process of being reinstated as an Auror, returns with news that they will begin Grindelwald’s interrogation as soon as possible and Newt is welcome to observe the proceedings behind a two-way mirror. Newt is reluctant, but such an offer is out of respect more than out of value for MACUSA. In the end, he accepts because he doesn’t want to antagonize the governing organization after the ordeal with his creatures.

Some minutes later, Newt is escorted into the side room with the viewing mirror. By the time of their arrival, the silver-haired man is bound to the same uncomfortable metal chair as he was the other day, but the rippling of the air around him indicates a heavy layering of defensive spells cast upon his immediate surroundings. There are two wizards located within the room with Grindelwald, their wands ready to begin. The magizoologist hovers around the edges of the room, unease sinking into his body at the thought of being in a room filled with Aurors -- he’s never had a good experience with authority.

“Mr. Grindelwald, what a pleasure it is to make your acquaintance.” The tall, burly man drawls. His name is Robert Fontaine, according to Tina who is standing next to him. He is dressed in clothes befitting an important figure in the governing body with slicked, short blonde hair and sharp brown eyes. His voice denotes a hint of sarcasm as he speaks. Grindelwald simply smirks in response. “Now, pray tell us, what did you do with the real Percival Graves?”

“And what makes you think he’s still alive?” His dual-coloured eyes scrutinize the two men, who are in turn peering down at him. Newt gets the distinct feeling that even if the one in chains is Grindelwald, he is the one in control of the situation. Everyone gets the distinct feeling that their captive is sure that he won’t be theirs for long. Fontaine frowns, annoyed, a face mirrored by his partner. The blonde scowls, points his wand at their captive’s thigh, and says, “ _ Diffindo. _ ”

It’s a weaker version of the original spell because it only leaves a shallow cut. Newt makes a barely audible noise, causing his brunette friend to glance at him in worry, but she doesn’t mention it. The prisoner doesn’t let any pained sounds escape him, even if blood is slowly bubbling out of the wound. Fontaine’s fellow Auror produced a disappointed grunt and repeating the spell, this time on Grindelwald’s left cheek. More blood spills out. The British wizard has never enjoyed or approved of these tactics to gain information; it reminds him too much of the war and how so many people would resort to such vile methods, claiming that the ends justify the means. It reminds him of all the abuse cases of magical creatures he’s stumbled across in his travels. It’s appalling and immoral in an abundant number of ways, Newt feels nauseous just thinking about it. Sure, Grindelwald is a Dark Lord, but at the end of the day, he is still a human being (not to mention, his soulmate, no matter how much he wishes he could deny it). A pale hand shakily covers his mouth and he hastily excuses himself from the viewing room. Once he is outside, his breaths come in too rapidly for him to get any decent amount of oxygen. He stumbles to the nearest bathroom and vomits into the toilet, cold sweat dripping down his forehead. His green eyes close as he wipes his mouth on the back of his sleeve, trying to shut out the picture at the forefront of his mind. Newt slides down the wall and stays still for a couple of moments to collect himself. Glancing down at his soiled sleeve, he mutters a  _ Scourgify _ and the stain disappears.

He returns minutes later to the room adjacent to where the interrogation is taking place and Grindelwald is sporting a couple more slashes, his face and hair is damp, along with small burns decorating his light skin. It takes almost all of Newt’s mental faculties to not lose his composure again. He greatly dislikes torture in any form, but he hates it more so because it is at the hands of the supposed “good guys.”

“Everything alright, Newt?” Tina whispered, eyebrows drawn up in distress. He nods, curly fringe bobbing up and down, his eyes fixed on his shoes, determined not to stare at the horrendous scene before him.

He swallows hard, “Any- any progress?”

“Not really. Grindelwald keeps deflecting their questions.” Tina answers morosely. Their conversation dies out after that. Another two hours go by, with MACUSA’s queries going nowhere, so they deem it time to end for the day -- they will try again tomorrow.

* * *

 

It’s been nearly a week and the Americans have gotten no closer to finding an answer about what happened to the real Graves. They’re running out of time and patience. An idea comes well into the darkest hours of the night, unable to sleep with the abundance of thoughts occupying his brain, when Newt is busy fixing his creatures their food. His Niffler, Charlie, is up to his usual antics, swiping a pair of shiny cufflinks he stowed away in the shelf by his reference books. In a moment of sudden realization ages ago, he thinks that Nifflers are naturally great trackers with an affinity for anything sparkling and scents, and ever since that recognition, he has been training Charlie to track on command. Newt can hardly wait for morning to come so he can pitch it to the team of Aurors.

He brings forth his proposition to Madam Picquery and she readily agrees to see it through because they have made very little leeway with Grindelwald and they are desperate to find Graves. Newt requires a few of the Director’s personal items, like a hair brush or clothes, for the Niffler to scent. A female witch, Ellie Roche -- if Newt recalls correctly -- fetches the requested items and hands them to the magizoologist. Everyone figures a good place to start would be within the Director’s office. Charlie eagerly sniffs the items for Graves’ odour, after receiving a bright golden coin from his mummy as a reward. With his bottom in the air, he sticks his beak to the ground and waddles around. Surprisingly, not even two minutes later, the creature squeaks happily and flops on the bookshelf standing behind the large oak desk. Newt gently pets Charlie and picks him up from the cigarette box, just sitting on a shelf. They all stare expectantly as Newt carefully peals the top of the case away and a brilliant light emits from within. Everyone closes their eyes to shield them from being blinded and when the room returns to normal brightness, the prone body of Percival Graves is lying on the floor. Thankfully, the man is still breathing and is in a seemingly deep sleep.

Following the removal of the stasis charm, among many others, the middle-aged man awakes the next day. All the Aurors in his department are ecstatic at his return, a couple of them even tearing up.

“Mr. Graves, it is good to have you back.” Tina quivers with emotion as she speaks. Fontaine and the other Auror who had interrogated Grindelwald the first day look just as overwhelmed, despite their tough exterior.

Percival gives them a shaky smile, grateful for all they’ve done, but they are quick to point out that it was all thanks to their foreign visitor. Newt has been hiding away in the corner of the room, afraid his presence would be intruding on the heartfelt reunion. He ducks his gaze downward, hating every moment that he is at the centre of attention.

“Mr. Scamander’s Niffler was the one to find where Grindelwald was hiding you, sir.” The older Goldstein sister clarifies, her eyes fond when she looks at Newt.

“Scamander?” Percival perks up at the familiar last name, “You wouldn’t happen to be Theseus’ brother, would you?”

“Ah, yes, that would be me.”

“I’ve heard a bit about you from Theseus. Send him my regards when you’re back in England… And thank you for all you’ve done.” Graves says with utmost sincerity. He can’t help but tack on as an after thought, “I do you hope you have a permit for that Niffler.”

Newt’s eyes go from staring at the space beside Percival’s head to shifting around wildly, quite obviously. He stutters through half-formed words before the American wizard lets out a light chuckle. Newt wonders why no one noticed such an extreme change in demeanor in Grindelwald’s impersonation because the man sitting on the hospital bed in front of him is nothing like the stoic, callous man he had confronted in the subway tunnels.

Finally, the mediwitches usher the group outside, claiming that the invalid wizard needed some much deserved rest and they scurry off, not without some complaints and well-wishing before they were sternly glared at. No one questions a mediwitch’s authority when it comes to their patients.

* * *

 

Newt returns to London shortly after the investigation into Graves’ disappearance is resolved and it has been a long time since he has been home. Nothing has changed since he left, except he can hear his assistant, Bunty, shuffling around in his enlarged basement. He is exhausted from the trip overseas and falls asleep on his bed almost instantaneously, believing the woman he has entrusted to care for his creatures while he was away to leave when she is done. The day after he lands back in Britain, he is summoned to the Ministry of Magic and has an unfair travel injunction enforced upon him, restricting his movement to within England.

With nothing else to do, time flies by and he completes the manuscript for his book,  _ Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them _ . Its fame, and correspondingly, his, soars following its release. He gets recognized on the streets and it is an miserable experience for him; eventually, he takes to casting a small Glamour on himself before he dares to leave the house, preferring to remain anonymous as he goes about his daily tasks. For some reason, he sleeps too much and still wakes tired the following morning. His affinity for non-verbal spells seems to dampen throughout the months he’s spent at home and he can’t wrap his mind around the cause. Newt thinks he’s just out of practice, so he never informs Theseus of his concerns. It’s six months following the Obscurial events in New York that he hears about Grindelwald’s escape from custody just as he is being transferred to Europe. Anxiety bubbles up in his throat, his stomach twisting harshly. Newt feels at a lost of what to do, since he has no one to turn to in order to discuss such heavy matters. He doesn’t want anyone to know that Grindelwald is his soulmate.

And so he keeps his deepest, darkest secret hidden. It slowly eats away at him, both mentally and physically.

The fatigue catches up to him when he’s sitting in the waiting area of the Ministry for his latest appeal of his international travel ban. He’s barely keeping awake, his head drooping drowsily. The redhead almost lapses into a light sleep when he feels something tugging on the sleeve of his coat. Looking down, Newt sees his Bowtruckle, Pickett, dangling from a button attached to a loose thread on the cuff. He gives the creature a fond smile. The thread snaps and Pickett drops to the carpeted floor. The button rolls away before both of their eyes. They each make a mad dash for it, Newt having the advantage, and he cups it underneath his palm as he kneels. Out of the corner of his eyes, he spots a pair of navy high heels coming into his vision.

“They’re ready for you, Newt.” It’s a familiar voice belonging to Leta Lestrange. He straightens up, pocketing the button and Pickett. Leta had been a close friend of his during his time at Hogwarts, but they had drifted apart after his expulsion. They have only recently been in contact because Theseus and Leta discovered that they were soulmates and subsequently, gotten engaged.

His face probably shows his confusion when he inquires about her presence, “Leta… What are you doing here?”

“Theseus thought it would be good if I became part of the Ministry family.” His brother’s fiancée discloses, like she was sharing an intimate secret with him. She is as beautiful as ever, long hair done up in an elegant bun and soft waves framing her face. Her smooth satin skirt and blouse are deep sapphire in colour and are form-fitting.

“Did he actually say the words ‘Ministry family?’” Newt’s tone shows his disbelief and the two share a short laugh at Theseus’ antics as they walk down the corridor. “That sounds like my brother.”

“Theseus was disappointed when you couldn’t come to dinner the other night… or any of the nights we asked you.”

“Well, I’ve been busy.”  _ And tired _ , Newt thinks to himself.

“He’s your brother, Newt, he likes spending time with you.” Leta pauses for a beat. “And so do I.”

Newt is saved from awkwardly replying when he notices Pickett climbing up on his lapel. He holds the breast pocket of his wool coat and snaps at the Bowtruckle to get back inside. The green leafy creature obliges, but not without blowing a raspberry at him.

The witch smiles as she says, “Why do strange creatures love you so much?”

“There are no strange creatures--” The redheaded magizoologist opens his mouth to refute her claim, but is interrupted.

“-- only blinkered people.” Leta finishes for him, amusement crossing her delicate features, deep brown eyes twinkling. “How long did you get in detention for saying that to Prendergast?”

“You know, I think it was a month that time.”

She swirls around fully to look at him in the eye, carefully walking backwards, “And I set off a Dungbomb under his desk so I could join you, do you remember?”

They have just reached their destination, a pair of ominous, ebony doors and they see Theseus striding down the hallway towards them. Newt shakes his head and responds, “No, I actually don’t remember that.”

Leta seems disappointed at his rebuff, but says nothing more. The tall redhead walks a couple of feet away from Leta and is greeted by his older brother, “Hello.”

“Theseus. We were just talking about Newt coming for dinner.” The woman glosses over their previous conversation, as if they weren’t just exchanging long forgotten tales of their school days.

“Really?” The Head Auror appears to be shocked that they’re even talking civilly. He doesn’t remember the last time that the two had been in the same room without tension thick enough to slice with a butter knife. Turning to face Newt, he starts doling out advice, “Well, look, before we go in there, I--”

“It’s my fifth attempt, Theseus. I know the form.” The younger brother is justly exasperated, but Theseus cares too much about him to not at least try. The magizoologist rubs his temple, feeling a headache oncoming.

“This isn’t going to be like the other times. This is-- just try and keep an open mind, will you? And maybe a little less--” The fair-skinned male sighs, but he has some insight into the proceedings that are about to unfold. He gestures towards Pickett, his blue peacoat, and his mop of messy hair.

“-- like me?” Newt concludes, resisting the urge to roll his eyes.

“Well, it can’t hurt. Come on, let’s go.” He answers, but there is a hint of fondness decorating his voice. The two siblings enter the darkened room.

* * *

 

His hearing goes as well as Newt had expected it to go -- that is, not well at all. He can hear Travers’ exclamation of “Travel documentation denied!” echoing after him as he storms out. They demanded that he join Theseus’ department as an Auror and even with his brother’s wordless encouragement to take the offer, he cannot possibly become a part of the institution that insists his magical beasts are hunted and killed. At least he has learned that Credence is still alive. Newt can hear his brother chasing after him, yelling his name.

“You think I like the idea of Grimmson any more than you do?” Theseus grabs his arm, preventing him from walking away from this conversation as Newt is so prone to doing. The older Scamander’s face betrays how testy and irritated he feels. Newt feels a renewed wave of exhaustion sweeping over him; he just wants to go home and sleep at this point. However, it seems like Theseus is insistent on finishing this conversation now.

“Listen, I don’t want to hear how the ends justify the means, Theseus. You know exactly how that turned out in the previous war.” The freckled male’s voice is tight as he recollects the series of incidents with the Ukrainian Ironbellies that ultimately led to their unnecessary deaths.

“I think you’re gonna have to pull your head out of the sand!” The other shouts, light brown eyebrows furrowed as he stares down his younger brother.

Newt raises his arms in defeat, “Okay, right, here we go. What a selfish-- irresponsible--”

“You know, the time is coming when everyone’s going to have to pick a side. Even you.” Theseus’ voice is softer here. He needs to explain this to his brother. This isn’t another problem that he can just avoid because one way or another, he knows Newt will end up in the middle of the chaos.

“I don’t do sides.” The magizoologist feels lightheaded with every word he says. Black fog is encroaching on his vision slowly.

“Newt… C’mere.” Theseus pulls him into an embrace that the younger doesn’t reciprocate, but doesn’t fight off either -- he honestly doesn’t have the energy to do so. The dark blonde haired Auror murmurs in Newt’s ear, “They’re watching you.”

Newt can’t form an answer because he feels his knees give out under him and he loses consciousness.

“Newt!” Theseus’ raised voice alerts Leta who is only a couple of doors down the corridor. The dark-skinned witch hurries over to see her fiancée cradling a passed out Newt.


	3. Shades of Orange

Newt blearily blinks his eyes and is immediately greeted by Theseus’ and Leta’s faces, anxiety and concern plain as day on them.

“Newt!” Leta’s expressive chestnut eyes soften as he comes to as she inquires about his health. “How are you feeling?”

“W-what happened?” The former Hufflepuff questions, confusion gracing his features. He doesn’t need the other two to explain because his memories come flooding back: he remembers Theseus and himself arguing about the upcoming war, he remembers feeling lightheaded and exhausted, and then he remembers succumbing to that exhaustion.

Theseus’ brow is furrowed, his voice is quivering slightly when he speaks, “You passed out and we brought you to the Ministry’s infirmary. Have you been eating regularly and sleeping enough? I know you’re prone to forgetting these kind of things, Newt…”

The freckled wizard replies, indignantly, because for once, he has been taking proper care of himself, “I have!”

Theseus just gives him a look that says that he doesn’t believe a word coming out of his brother’s mouth. The mediwitch chooses this moment to enter the room, returning with a diagnosis on Newt’s well-being. The three of them stare expectantly at her, to which the brunette can’t help but sigh. She glances at the clipboard she is toting and starts to read from it.

“It’s not exactly clear why Mr. Scamander fainted. The most likely explanation is acute fatigue from overworking yourself.” The witch discloses and the Head Auror sends a knowing and smug expression to Newt.

“Of course I was right about this.” Leta rolls her eyes in exasperation at the Scamander brothers’ antics. These two always have a complicated relationship, no matter how old they are.

“As of now, I would advise Mr. Scamander to get some rest and to abstain from strenuous activities.” With her job done, the mediwitch excuses herself from the room.

“You heard her, now you have to join us for dinner, okay?” Theseus declares, leaving no room for argument. Newt decides it’s time to graciously admit defeat and assents. After his discharge papers are filled and filed, the trio head back to Theseus and Leta’s place in London.

Newt inquires if he can help with anything, but the other two are adamant about him being not only a guest, but on medically-advised rest, so he arbitrarily thinks about what’s going on in his life, while he is seated on their couch. The dark-haired witch moves gracefully around the kitchen, wand in hand, and casting spells to prepare a meal for them. Theseus is busy setting the table and aiding where he can with dinner. Several minutes fly by and the meal is complete. Theseus sits himself at the head of the table, leaving Newt and Leta to awkwardly face each other; although, they try their best to avoid any semblance of eye contact. The blonde Auror attempts to make small talk, but it quickly goes nowhere. Leta grabs ahold of Theseus’ hand, soothing his uneasiness, and her fiancée offers her a sweet and loving look. Theseus never ceases to be amazed with the witch’s ability to understand his underlying feelings at any given time.

The younger Scamander brother can tell that the two of them are deeply in love and he knows that it is the soulmate bond that ties them together even closer, so he has to break the silence by asking, “What is it like to be soulmates?”

Soulful brown eyes turn towards him and after a beat, she retorts, “Why, Newt, you’ve never been one to fancy hearing anything about soulmates.”

“Ah, well,” She has him there, but Newt thinks quickly on his feet, “I came across a pair of Graphorns a couple of months back -- the last breeding pair, in fact -- but it is said that they are creatures that mate only once and for life. I just wanted to see if I could draw some parallels between humans and Graphorns for the second edition of my book.”

 _Naturally, Newt would raise a question that pertains to his love of magical beasts._ Theseus muses. The two lovers exchange a brief glance, before venturing on.

“How to explain it…” Theseus ponders, “It’s like a missing puzzle piece has finally been found or--”

“-- or you never have to voice your insecurities because your soulmate simply _knows_ already.” Leta finishes. The engaged pair nod in agreement and continue blabbering on such niceties about being in a reciprocated soulmate relationship that Newt actually feels sick. He wonders why he couldn’t have had a less difficult soulmate -- Gellert Grindelwald of all people!

A particular portion of the conversation catches his attention, “-- we’ve noticed the strangest phenomenon recently. It feels like we’ve grown stronger, in a magical sense. And when we’re physically too far apart for too long, we can feel it dampening.”

In an abrupt realization, Newt’s dilemma regarding his health makes sense. No one knows that the world’s most infamous Dark wizard is the magizoologist’s soulmate and so undoubtedly, no one has made the connection. His deteriorating strength and weakening magical abilities can be attributed from being geographically isolated from Grindelwald. Hence, after they’ve concluded dinner, Newt makes a hasty retreat back to his house, muttering excuses about how he needs to rest, but he needs to escape from the lovesick couple and the newfound answers he’s discovered. When he’s finally in the warm embraces of his bedroom, he curls up in a fetal position and weeps. He doesn’t want this.

* * *

 

The day has just turned to evening and the sky is overcast, clouds gathering as a storm brews. Newt stumbles through the crowded streets of non-magical London. He notices that Theseus is indeed right about the Ministry assigning a tail to him. He hates the idea that not only could they prohibit him from travelling, but also to add surveillance. His innate reaction is to cross the street, just in time for line of sight of the Ministry’s employee to be cut off from him as a car rolls by, and he ducks behind the corner of a building. He peeks out and whispers, “ _Ventus._ ”

An overwhelming gust of wind propels said man back, even as he tries to resist by opening his black umbrella, garnering weird looks from Muggles passing by. Newt smiles, not quite a smirk, and feels the tap of a finger on his shoulder. When he looks in the opposite direction, he catches sight of a black leather glove waving. Then, it gestures to the top of a building, where he can see a tiny figure brandishing the top of their hat at him. Newt shakes his head as he grips the glove and is transported to the rooftop. He steadily makes his way across narrow ledges to where a middle-aged man with greying auburn hair and a full beard is waiting: Albus Dumbledore. The curly redhead presents the glove back to the Hogwarts professor as he greets him with amusement in his voice, “Dumbledore. Were the less conspicuous rooftops full, then?”

Dumbledore doesn’t turn to look at his former student from the sight before him, but he fondly states, “Well, I do enjoy a view. _Nebulus._ ”

Fog descends over the city in front of them and the two of them Disapparate to Trafalgar Square. They stride past the landmark lions as they converse.

“How was it?” Dumbledore inquires and at this Newt frowns, before he responds.

“They’re still convinced that you sent me to New York.” He’s referring to the three wizards he had the displeasure of meeting during all five of his appeal hearings.

“You told them I didn’t?” The other retorts, but the former student seems disgruntled with his reply.

“Yes, even though you did.” The author scrutinizes his professor’s face, looking for changes in facial expressions as he continues his deductions, “You told me where to find that trafficked Thunderbird, Dumbledore. You knew that I would take him home and you knew that I’d have to take him through a Muggle port.”

The Hogwarts teacher digresses, “Well, I’ve always felt an affinity with the great magical birds. There’s a story that’s passed down in my family: a phoenix will come to any Dumbledore in desperate need. They say my great-great-grandfather had one, but that it took flight when he died, never to return.”

Newt looks at him with incredulity, “With all due respect, I don’t believe for a minute that’s why you told me about the Thunderbird.”

There is a noise behind them as a figure of a man appears through the fog, causing the two to Disapparate away again when they spot him. When they reappear, they have relocated to a bus station and board a parked, empty bus.

“Credence is in Paris, Newt. He’s trying to trace his real family. I take it you’ve heard the rumours regarding who he really is?” Dumbledore reveals, leaning forward from his seated position. Newton is very much aware of the first part, but the rest is news to him.

“No.”

“The purebloods believe he’s the last of an important French line, a baby whom everyone thought lost…”

“Not Leta’s brother?” The younger wizard interrupts, briefly, surprise written all over his features. He hasn't heard much about the Lestrange’s long lost son, except that he was taken out of Europe in fear of his life. Not to mention, he hasn't been in close contact with any of the Lestrange family in general.

“That’s what they’re whispering. Pureblood or not, I know this: an Obscurus grows in the absence of love as a dark twin, an only friend. If Credence has a real brother or sister out there who can take its place, he might yet be saved.” A beat passes, during middle-aged man's account. “Wherever Credence is in Paris, he’s either in danger or a danger to others. We may not know who he is yet, but he needs to be found. And I rather hoped you might be the one to find him.”

Dumbledore conjures a card with a glowing golden symbol on it and the Hufflepuff examines it with confusion, “What’s that?”

“It’s an address of a very old acquaintance of mine. A safe house in Paris, reinforced with enchantments.”

“A safe house? Why would I need a safe house in Paris?” The magizoologist sputters, raising an eyebrow in question, mouth slightly agape.

“One hopes you won’t, but should things at some point go terribly wrong, it’s good to have a place to go. You know, for a cup of tea.” The wizard’s blue eyes sparkle in amusement as he says this.

“No, no, no -- absolutely not.” Newt vehemently refuses. A Muggle enters the driving compartment, forcing them to depart and they Apparate on to a bridge and Dumbledore spells the bright lights that line the bridge to darken.

“I’m banned from international travel, Dumbledore. If I leave the country, they will put me in Azkaban and throw away the key.” Newt deplores, like he can’t believe that his former Professor is asking him to do such an insane task.

“Do you know why I admire you, Newt? More, perhaps, than any man I know?” Newt is caught off guard by the flattery, but the older wizard persists nonchalantly, “You don’t seek power or popularity. You simple ask, is the thing right in itself? If it is, then I must do it, no matter the cost.”

He watches through his fringe, green eyes cautious as he counters, “That’s all very well, Dumbledore, but, forgive me for asking, why can’t you go?”

“I cannot move against Grindelwald. It has to be you.” The Hogwarts professor pauses, taking in Newt’s face. The younger’s face contorts into despondency because Dumbledore is requesting that he partakes in the fight with the rising Dark Lord. The other doesn’t realize that Grindelwald and Newt happen to be soulmates. Even if Newt hates the circumstances that are wrought upon them, he isn’t completely sure he _can_ fight his soulmate while he feels so utterly powerless at the moment. “Well, I don’t blame you, in your shoes, I’d probably refuse too. It’s late. Good evening, Newt.”

Dumbledore disappears with a snap of magic.

“Oh, c’mon!” Newt exclaims, throwing his arms up in defeat. The older’s empty glove returns with the the business card in hand and tucks it into his breast pocket. The auburn haired man is irked to say the least and manages to grumble, “Dumbledore…”

* * *

 

The freckled man returns to his humble abode in London. After the ordeal with the escaped baby Nifflers and addressing the Kelpie’s wound, Bunty and Newt hear a crash from above the basement.

“What was that?” His assistant’s voice shakes with fear as they gaze upwards, the faint echoes of footsteps wandering around upstairs.

A pensive look on his face, the magizoologist answers, “I don’t know, but I want you to go home now, Bunty.”

“Shall I call the Ministry?”

“No, I want you to go home now. Please.” Newt sneaks up the stairs, careful not to make any undue sounds until he is able to see who has decided to drop in on his house uninvited. He’s not sure what to expect when he pushes the door leading to his living quarters open.

Jacob Kowalski and Queenie Goldstein are standing in the middle of his living room, suitcases scattered on the floor next to them. His blonde friend has an air of nervousness mixed with excitement, whereas Jacob seems to be inebriated and is currently bumbling about with the broken pieces of a vase that originally decorated a table close by.

The younger Goldstein sister is fluttering around her beloved, trying to retrieve the damaged parts so she could fix them with magic, “If you could just give it me… Just give it to me, sweetie. Just hand it over. Oh!”

The couple notice Newt’s presence as they spot his head peeking around the corner. Jacob blurts out with undisguised elation, dropping the remnants of the vase without a care, “HEY, NEWT! Get over here, you maniac!”

He flings his arms around a delighted, but surprised Newt. Queenie gives him a grin, looking sheepish at their sudden appearance.

“We hope you don’t mind, Newt? We let ourselves in; it’s raining cats and dogs out there! London’s cold.”

The redhead barely shrugs before he faces the stocky man and says, “But you were supposed to be Obliviated!”

“I know!” The Muggle says, but his features show no sign of shock or disbelief.

“So-- but--” Newt fumbles for the right words to say in a situation like this.

Jacob is quick to break the awkward conversation with his account, “It didn’t work, pal. I mean, you said it, the potion only erases bad memories. I didn’t have any. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I had some weird ones. But this angel… this angel over here, she filled me in on all the bad parts, and here we are, I guess?”

“This is wonderful!” He looks around for Tina, but doesn’t find her. “Where’s Tina?”

“Oh, it’s just us, honey. Me and Jacob.” Queenie tells him.

“I see.”

The room descends into silence before the blonde witch’s sweet voice tears through it, “Why don’t I make us some dinner, huh?”

“Yes!” Jacob shouts, loud and unruly, almost causing Newt to flinch back at the volume. The younger Goldstein observes the dark circles underneath Newt’s normally brilliant green eyes and his slightly sunken in cheeks; his face is more angular than she remembers when she last saw him in New York and it seems like his clothes don’t fit quite as well. The blonde witch notes this in the back of her mind to bring up later.

Once the woman finishes preparing a meal for three, she abruptly states, “Tina and I aren’t talking.”

“Why?” Newt glances up from his meal, making momentary eye contact with her, before looking to the right.

“Oh well, you know, she found out about Jacob and I seeing each other and she didn’t like it, ‘cause of the ‘law.’” Queenie imitates her sister’s voice, mockingly, “Not allowed to date No-Majs, not allowed to marry them. Blah, blah, blah. Well, she was all in a tizzy anyway, ‘cause of you.”

“Me? Why would she be in a tizzy over me?”

“Yeah, you, Newt. It was all over _Spellbound._ Here: I brought a copy for you.” She summons the magazine titled ‘ _Spellbound: Celebrity Secrets and Spell Tips of the Stars!_ ’ and Newt’s face is plastered on the cover. The headline reads: ‘BEAST TAMER, NEWT, TO WED!’ The magazine flips open to a picture of Theseus, Leta, Newt, and Bunty standing side by side at his book launch. In the photo, Leta is standing close to him, a hand resting on his shoulder with a soft smile spread over her full lips. Queenie points at the magazine and reads, “‘Newt Scamander with fiancée, Leta Lestrange; brother, Theseus; and unknown woman.’”

“No, no, they got it wrong. Theseus is the one marrying Leta, not me.” He denies, still observing his non-magical friend’s odd actions.

“Oh! Oh dear… Well, see, Teenie read that and she started dating someone else. He’s an Auror. His name’s Achilles Tolliver.” Newt fails to see how Tina’s dating life is pertinent to him, but he doesn’t interrupt his female friend. Jacob and Queenie trade a look before laughing at the man’s last name. A pregnant silence ensues, but then Newt wants to talk about Jacob’s tumultuous behaviour: eating sloppily, humming to himself, and then attempting to drink from the salt shaker. Queenie quickly proceeds to cover for him, snatching it, and replacing it with a glass.

“Anyway… How have you been doing, Newt? I hope New York isn’t still haunting you. You don’t look so well, honey.” She confesses, forehead wrinkled in concern.

“I’ve been well, everything’s good.” Newt brushes off her concerns with a dismissive wave of his hand, but the blonde Legilimens is unconvinced, even if she chooses not to press. She attempts to delve into his thoughts, but they are in such a disarray that she gets a headache from trying to sort through them. Instead, she is only able to feel the most prominent emotions -- despair and confusion. Her immaculate brows pull up further, but a look from Newt tells her not to go further with her line of questioning. Queenie respects his judgment.

“Okay, well… We’re real excited to be here, Newt. This is a-- well, it’s a special trip for us. You see, Jacob and I, we’re getting married!” She showcases her engagement ring and Jacob tries to toast with this cup, but ends up pouring the beer all over his head.

“I’m marrying Jacob!” The man bellows and there is no doubt in his mind now that Queenie has managed to bewitch his friend and he levels her with a fierce glare. He knows she is capable of reading his mind and he uses this to his advantage, _You’ve enchanted him, haven’t you?_

“What? I have not.” She replies as she hears the first coherent thought pass through his consciousness.

“Will you stop reading my mind?” Newt says aloud, but he is still speaking to her mentally.

_Queenie, you’ve brought him here against his will._

“Oh, that is an outrageous accusation. Look at him. He’s just happy. He’s so happy!” Queenie is affronted by the implications of his thoughts. He returns her statement with a disbelieving look.

Newt draws his wand out from his pocket and points it at the dark-haired male, “Then you won’t mind if I--”

Queenie jumps in front of Jacob, trying to shield him from his line of sight. “Please don’t!”

“Queenie, you’ve got nothing to fear if he wants to get married. We can just lift the enchantment and he can tell us himself.”

Several painful moments elapse and at last, she moves aside, her gaze downturned in a sense of shame.

“What you got there? Whatchu gonna do? Whatchu gonna do with that, Mr. Scamander?” Jacob teases, a grin stretching his face wide.

“ _Surgito._ ”

Jacob reacts as though a bucket of cold water has just been poured over his head, shaking, and a cloud of pink smoke forms into the shape of a heart above his head, still wet from the beer. He comes to his senses and glances around, confused.

“Congratulations on your engagement, Jacob.” Newt announces and Jacob’s wide brown eyes stare at him.

“Wait, what?”

Newt looks at Queenie and Jacob turns to see his beloved standing adjacent to him.

“Oh no.” He realizes he has been taken against his will. Slowly, he gets to his feet and she reads his mind. With a sob, she runs to close her case, but her lipstick and a fragment of torn postcard fall out. She then proceeds to flee the apartment. “Queenie!”

Jacob glances back and forth between the departing witch and his close friend, debating on who to address first, “Uh, it’s very nice to see you. Where the hell am I right now?”

“Oh, um, London.”

“Oh, I’ve always wanted to go here!” His voice carries infinite amounts of frustration, before he stomps out, chasing after Queenie with another cry of her name.

* * *

 

Queenie dashes out of Newt’s house and down the street, tears streaking her cheeks. Jacob runs after her, his face red and livid, and it colours his tone as he asks, “Queen, honey. I’m just curious, when were you going to wake me up? After we’d had five kids?”

The blonde whips around and nearly growls uncharacteristically, “Why is it wrong to want to marry you?”

“Okay--” Jacob attempts to butt in, but the woman barrels forward.

“To wanna have a family? I just want what everyone else has, that’s all.” Her eyes are shimmering with more tears, such a beautiful blue, despite the dim lighting of the street. They stare despondently at one another.

“Okay, wait. We talked about this, like, a million times. If we get married and they find out, they’re gonna throw you in jail, sweetheart. I can’t live with that. They don’t like people like me getting married to people like you. I ain’t a wizard. I’m just me.”

“They’re real progressive here in England and they’ll let us get married proper.” She is shaking as she explains how the culture and laws in Britain are not as backwards as they are in America. The man approaches her and wipes a solitary tear from her cheek.

“Sweetheart, you don’t need to enchant me. I’m already enchanted! I love you so much.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, but I can’t have you risking everything like this, you know? You’re not giving us a choice, sweetheart.” Jacob counters, almost pleading her to understand how tough this is for him as well.

“You’re not givin’ _me_ a choice. One of us had to be brave and you-- you were being a coward!”

“I was being a coward? If I’m a coward, you’re a--” The Muggle cuts himself off, but it’s already too late because Queenie has read his mind.

“-- Crazy!”

“... I didn’t say it.”

“You didn’t have to…”

“No, I didn’t mean it like that, sweetheart.”

“Yeah…” Queenie is forlorn as she responds, “You did.”

“No!” He tries, but she has shifted away from his reach and is almost running away from him. He can hear the pain in her voice as she says her next words.

“I’m gonna go see my sister.”

“Fine, see your sister.” The mustached man is exhausted from proving his case and he gives in.

“Fine.” There is a sense of finality in her tone and Jacob instantly regrets everything he’s said as Queenie vanishes from the streets of London.

“No, wait! No, Queenie! I didn’t mean it… I didn’t say nothing…” But he is alone on the street.

* * *

 

Newt is conflicted, miserable at causing such a ruckus, but he catches sight of a torn up postcard. He crosses the room to pick it up and then mutters, “ _Papyrus Reparo._ ”

The ripped pieces come together and mend; it shows a beautiful landscape somewhere in Paris. The fine handwriting on the back says:

 

 

> _My dear Queenie,_ _  
> _ _What a beautiful city._ _  
> _ _I’m thinking of you,_ _  
> _ _Tina X_

He can only imagine that the reason Tina is in Paris in the first place is because she is looking for Credence. Just like so many other people are and he can’t help but be concerned for the boy’s well-being. As soon as Jacob arrives back at his residence, the two pack up and head to Paris as well.

* * *

 

Only moments ago, Grindelwald has procured his new hideout in Paris, after killing the occupants of the house. Following the months of his imprisonment, he hasn’t felt quite up to par to his usual self, but it’s nothing that affects or worries him all that much. The pale platinum-haired man has spent much time fascinated with the seemingly weak magizoologist -- the one responsible for his capture -- but after the events in New York, he knows that appearances can be all too deceiving. An uncontrolled vision hits him as he is contemplating how to go about approaching Credence at the circus.

_He Sees Newt sitting uncomfortably at a table, fumbling through a meal, with another man who resembles him in some ways and a dark-skinned female, pretty and elegant, but wholly not his definition of beautiful. He is sure this witch is known as Leta Lestrange. Grindelwald only catches the tail-end of their conversation, but he can tell that they are discussing soulmates._

_“-- we’ve noticed the strangest phenomenon recently. It feels like we’ve grown stronger, in a magical sense. And when we’re physically too far apart for too long, we can feel it dampening.” Leta explains, gesturing wildly, and it is easy to put the situation Newt and himself in perspective after hearing this. There is a white flash of light, subtle and delicate, and then, his vision changes to Newt conjuring up his Patronus to send a message to someone. The thing that captivates the Dark Lord’s focus is the fact that the animal that is invoked is not some common, non-magical beast, but rather an extraordinary Kelpie. The curly haired wizard speaks in soft words, mentioning someone called ‘Bunty,’ before the Kelpie lends him a nod and bounds off to deliver the message._

Grindelwald returns to reality, slightly befuddled from the experience as he usually is. A Patronus that appears in the form of magical creature is so exceedingly rare that he thinks, _How interesting this soulmate of his is._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I. Am. On. A. Roll.
> 
> Hope y'all enjoyed. As usual, comments and kudos are much loved! Thank you for all the support once again. <3


	4. Shades of Purple

Shortly after having a vision of his soulmate -- not the first and not the last, he is sure -- Grindelwald holds a debriefing for his subordinates. The heterochromic man commands to one them, “I want you to go to the circus now. Give my note to Credence and begin his journey.”

Nagel nods and quickly excuses himself from the room. Rosier, elegantly dressed as ever, haughtily declares in her heavy French accent, “When we’ve won, they’ll flee cities in the millions. They’ve had their time.”

“Now, now. We don’t say such things out loud. We only want freedom. Freedom to express who we truly deserve to be.” Grindelwald pacifies, a smirk curling up through his lips.

The French woman agrees, a finger positioned on her chin in contemplation, “To annihilate non-wizards.”

The Dark Lord’s eyes flash -- patience wearing thin -- when he speaks next, “Not all of them. We are not merciless, but the beast of burden will always be necessary. Rosier, if you please.”

The blue-eyed witch knows what he is referring to, even if he doesn’t explicitly say it, and retrieves the skull-shaped hookah for her Lord. Grindelwald takes a deep breath in and exhales the smoke that models itself into the Obscurus, black fog swirling with intermittent red flashes, and then resolving into an image of Credence Barebone. His acolytes vibrate with excitement, except for the wizard of Asian descent, Krall, who seems sullen at the sight.

“So, Credence Barebone. A boy nearly destroyed by the woman who raised him, yet now, he seeks the mother who bore him. He’s desperate for family, for love, and he is the key to our victory. We must make him believe that we can provide that information to him.” Grindelwald proclaims, his mismatched eyes shining with an unbridled lust for power.

Krall, a nervous tick in his dark eyebrow, says, “Well, we know where the boy is, don’t we? Why don’t we just grab him and leave?”

“No, he must come voluntarily… and he will.” The Dark wizard shakes his head in response, while explaining. His gaze returns to the suspended vapour form of Credence in the centre of the room. “The path has been laid and he is following it, according to plan. The trail that will lead him to me, along with the strange and glorious truth of who he is.”

“Why is he so important?”

“Who represents the greatest threat to our cause, Krall?”

“Albus Dumbledore, of course.”

“And if I asked you to go to Hogwarts, where he is hiding, and kill him for me, would you do it for me?” An unkind grin graces Grindelwald’s face. “Credence is the only entity alive, who can kill him.”

Krall stumbles through his rebuttal, quickly correcting himself as he catches his Lord’s stern glare, as if daring him to finish his initial train of thought, “You really think that he can kill the great-- can kill Albus Dumbledore?”

“Oh, Krall. I know he can. But will you be with us when that happens? Will you?” Grindelwald whispers, imparting a knowing look on the other man. The powerful wizard is able to discern that Krall is not completely faithful to him and to their mission because he has Seen it in the near future. Then, he addresses the rest of the room’s occupants, “Now, leave.”

In the vacant space, the blonde wizard recalls Newt’s freckled face in the subway tunnels of New York, contorted in agony from the electrical shocks he had sent at him and the distraught expression after he had learned that being too physically far from his soulmate is such a cause for concern. He can’t help but derive pleasure from the sight -- such a delicious image painted over the boy’s delicate features. He ponders many things as he takes a seat, a sinister smile on his face, looking out at the bustling streets of the French capital and enjoying a cup of tea. Grindelwald is intrigued by this so-called magical growth as a result of being in a mutual soulmate bond. Now, his next important issue to address is how to persuade the British onto his side. He knows the other has a soft spot a mile wide for magical creatures and that includes the Obscurus contained within Credence. The Dark Lord lets out a pleased hum as plans start to from in his head, soon to come to fruition.

He summons Vinda back a while later; she awaits his command, “Yes, my Lord?”

“Retrieve the Ministry’s records on Newton Scamander.” She bows at her waist and goes to complete Grindelwald’s bidding.

* * *

 

A beautiful woman, porcelain skin with hair as dark as night, is kneeling beside a trunk filled with extravagant costumes. She strokes the dark blue dress on top, the material is smooth under her touch, too similar to a snake’s skin. She knows her performance is about to begin and she knows she will hate every moment of it. However, she doesn’t have much choice at the moment. Nagini had needed a way out of Indonesia, away from human traffickers who had sought her out for prostitution or slavery. Skender may be the trash of the magical community, but the next option was far worse. So, she decided to display her ‘unique talent’ in the circus show instead.

“Nagini!” It’s the boy she has become close with over the past couple of months, Credence. His hair has thankfully grown out from that terrible haircut that he sported when she met him. He rushes towards her with an urgent whisper, steel bars separating them, “I think I know where she is.”

Credence must be referring to the identity of his birth mother and she confirms her suspicions when she reads the note he hands her, a frown forming. Regardless of her personal feelings, Nagini meets his chocolate brown eyes, sadness ever present because she knows how it is to be lost. She remains wary at the thought of this Grindelwald person who sent the note. She wonders if Credence can trust this man -- after all, she’s heard the whispers.

“We escape tonight.” He promises, hope burgeoning in his eyes for the first time since his initial meeting with Percival Graves in New York. He thinks he can find his true family and identity, and maybe then, he can stop feeling so utterly lost.

The ringmaster, Skender, appears through the tent’s flaps and angrily shouts at Credence, “Hey! I’ve told you to stay away from her, boy. Did I say you could take a break? Clean out the Kappa.”

He jerks the curtains between the two closed and scolds Nagini, telling her to get ready for her show. Credence barely contains his rage as he eyes the hanging cage, full of Firedrakes, plotting.

* * *

 

The night is clear and filled with gleaming stars as Tina Goldstein wanders through the streets of Paris.  The now reinstated Auror, far from home and on a self-appointed mission, walks with an air of confidence, so unlike nine months ago in New York. Somehow, despite her elegant gait, her shoulders are still burdened with personal troubles, thoughts commiserating inside her head. Her long, black trench coat glistens in the dim light as she approaches a statue of a robed woman, gracefully posed upon a giant slab of stone, where her fellow disguised witches and wizards are disappearing into. Dark eyes dart back and forth, ensuring that the non-magical citizens aren’t watching her, and she ducks into the sculpture.

Tina arrives at the entrance of a bustling circus with several tents, the largest one in the centre. A banner is strung across that reads: ‘Circus Arcanus: Freaks and Oddities.’ Street performers line the sides of the main walkway: half-trolls displaying incredible feats of strength, a half-elf juggling knives and other dangerous objects, and a pair of albino twins spitting flames between their open mouths. There is a magnificent creature Tina has never seen before -- its long, plumed tail coiling with feline-like finesse -- staring out from behind sturdy iron bars. The Auror hears the crackling of fireworks erupting in the sky above her.

She slips into the crowd of the main tent, dark eyes intent on searching for the lost Obscurial boy. She tries her best to blend in as Skender, the circus owner, grows increasingly frustrated at his freak’s rebellious behaviour. Credence, somewhere off in the back, makes eye contact with his female friend. Noticing Nagini’s gaze, Tina follows it and finally locates Credence. She begins to move towards the boy she had failed in New York. Skender is furious as he lashes his whip at the bars, “She is _forced_ to become…”

Tina tunes out whatever drivel the burly man is spouting, it is unimportant to her. At last, Nagini gives in and slowly morphs into the body of a snake. Before anyone can react, the large snake strikes at Skender through the bars and yells something in Parseltongue. The ringmaster collapses, bleeding from the wound in his neck. Credence, eyes dark with emotion, snaps a stick at the cage containing the Firedrakes, who soar to freedom. The fabric of the big top catches aflame, screams erupting from the crowd, people stomping and running over each other to the exit. Tina tries her best to navigate through them.

A state of panic settles over the circus as the Firedrakes wreak havoc, tearing patterns through the night sky and trailing showers of sparks. The multitude of creatures are terrified and angered. A Hippogriff is rearing back, while its handlers attempt to rein it in. Performers are scuttling to and from, packing up their belongings, house elves are shoving everything into boxes that fold in on themselves until they become small enough to carry. Tina appears with a resounding snap and flicks her wand to put out the fire. The malnourished Zouwu bursts forth from its crate and leaps away from the screaming humans, roaring out of fright, face scarred and battered. Skender dismisses the creature, knowing any attempts to capture it are futile, so he gathers his workers and boards the carriage. Tina sees Credence in the distance and calls out his name in vain. He is already too far to hear her.

Tina confronts Skender and demands whatever he knows about Credence’s objective in Paris. The man claims that he is looking for his family, and somehow that surprises Tina, despite the fact that she knew that Credence is an orphan who had been adopted by cruel and wicked Mary Lou Barebone. After the bearded male whizzes away with his merry band of freaks, she is confronted by a West African male, judging by his accent, and the two of them discuss Credence’s fate at a nearby cafe. The female Auror optimistically assumes that they’re after the Obscurial boy for the same reason: to save him.

But she is very wrong, and she finds this out the hard way when he disarms her and throws her into an underground cell, one of the walls covered in markings and notes. The brunette sighs, defeatedly, and falls into an agitated sleep.

* * *

 

Newt and Jacob successfully track Tina down to her current imprisonment, courtesy of Kama. Following the spectacle that the Zouwu makes in non-magical Paris shortly thereafter, the group of friends are forced to seek shelter in Nicolas Flamel’s house. They clamber through the doors of the empty house, the place is eerily quiet, but they get settled in nonetheless. The British wizard heads down into his case to acclimatize its newest addition, while Tina supervises the unconscious body of the Senegalese man and Jacob desperately searches for food.

He reappears a good twenty minutes later, curly mop of hair peeking through the opening and viridian eyes observing the brunette. The Muggle breaks the awkward silence with a loud grumble emitting from his stomach, a drop of sweat rolls down the side of his face as he becomes the centre of attention. Jacob laughs, sheepish, a hand coming up to wipe at his forehead. Newt fondly smiles, the bags under his eyes even more pronounced -- something Tina finally notices now that they are in decent lighting. Newt appears haggard and worn, but as she opens her mouth to speak, he interjects, “Well, I suppose we all could use some food right about now.”

The round man wants to offer his help, but the magizoologist is already out the door and by the time he turns around to talk to the American Auror, she, too, is sweeping through the hallway, muttering about needing to report to the French Ministry. Jacob throws up his arms in defeat and sits down to watch the dark-skinned man while he waits.

* * *

 

Newt knows he shouldn't have volunteered to go searching for food, seeing as he is having difficulty keeping his eyes open, but he doesn't want to stay in such a stuffy environment. Things have been tense between him and Tina, especially with the last couple of letters that were exchanged. She has been insistent in persuading him to visit New York, spouting pleasantries about missing him, and frankly, it made him uncomfortable. He fears the woman has taken a liking to him, but he cannot possibly return those feelings when his mind has been spinning out of control since his soulmate's identity was revealed. As he blearily peers at the rows of food in the small market, his green eyes glaze over and he stumbles into the shelf. He wheezes lightly, gripping his chest as he tries to catch his breath, but Newt doesn't think he can remain conscious for much longer. There is a delicate hand that rests on his shoulder in a comforting manner as someone says something in French to him, but he can neither understand the language or has the mental faculties to perform a translation spell. His eyelids slip closed and just as he is about to slump to the ground, he is faintly aware of someone propping him up, bearing the brunt of his weight.

When the magizoologist comes to, he is alone in a drawing room, laid out upon an elegant chaise and his coat is neatly folded on the side table. Newt glances around the room, evaluating the layout with a keen eye, looking for possible escape routes and objects to defend himself with. This is certainly not the first time he’s been taken without his consent and it won’t be the last -- not in his line of work. His brain stops its calculations when a fair-skinned witch with darkly coloured hair and vibrant blue eyes glides through the doors. She has a tray with tea trailing behind her in the air, a polite and somewhat cold smile graces her lips as she notes that he is awake. She presents him with a teacup, which he takes with a soft 'thank you,’ but then stares at it with apprehension. Her mouth twitches with a bit of humour.

“I assure you, Mr. Scamander, the tea is not poisoned or drugged. Although, it seems you could use a bit of a Pepperup potion.” Her English is fluent, but laced with a French intonation. Newt flushes slightly, ashamed to seen disrespectful in any manner.

“How do you--”

“You have become quite famous, no? An author who writes about magical beasts… It is not everyday one stumbles upon such a well-known person after all.” Her amusement is still apparent in her voice as she explains. In truth, it is because she has seen the files associated with him, but the man doesn’t need to know. Newt fondles the rim of the plate the teacup is on in an attempt to gather his bearings. “My name is Vinda Rosier. Just Vinda is fine though.”

He recognizes her last name, one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight pureblood families of Europe with an affinity for the Dark Arts; it instantly makes him wary, but he schools his face to not react adversely. Newt is polite if nothing else, so he says, “Then call me ‘Newt.’ No one really calls me by my full name unless I’ve done something unruly.”

“Very well… Newt.” There is a vague sense of distaste as his nickname rolls off her tongue, unused to such casual language, but it makes him grin a little. He takes a sip of the tea, Earl Grey, he pleasantly notes.

“Thank you for your help earlier. I don’t know what might have happened if I was taken by some less kind people.” The redhead confesses, grateful that Vinda seems like a reasonably decent person, and because of this, he doesn’t expect when Europe’s most wanted Dark Wizard waltzes into the room. Newt scrambles back on the sofa, dropping the teacup and desperately unsheathing his wand, but he knows he cannot possibly hold his own against Grindelwald. Vinda is fast to respond in order to prevent the cup from shattering on the ground with a Levitation charm. His body unconsciously trembles with the traumatic memories of the electricity that ran through his body in New York and his outstretched hand shakes with it, yet the opposing wizard makes no movement to attack him. Instead, the older man nonchalantly approaches and sits next to him. Green eyes anxiously meet mismatched ones for a moment, before skittering away to the small space between them. He chokes out, “W-what are you-- Are you going to kill me--”

A surprisingly warm hand encircles his raised wrist and gently lowers it down -- it’s such a drastic contrast from Newt’s last encounter with the other wizard that the touch causes him to take a sharp inhale. A thrum of soothing magic courses between their connected skin and Newt shivers pleasantly at the sensation, making a sly smile to cross the other’s lips. Grindelwald knows how much their interaction affects his soulmate; he watches as the colour returns to his cheeks, watches as the dark circles under his eyes recede slightly, watches how the fine lines smooth out across his face, watches as his breaths deepen and pupils dilate marginally. All of it is involuntary, but fascinating to witness. He, himself, can feel the hackles of energy rising within him, being in close contact with his soulmate; his magic sings beautifully in his veins.

“Now, Mr. Scamander, why would I kill my soulmate? Someone exclusively made for me?” He says slowly as if talking to a child, lips tilting upwardly ever so slightly. He brings Newt’s hand up to his mouth, laying a light peck on it, a flush rising high on the younger’s cheeks.

“Well, that’s not-- I mean, you didn’t seem to feel that way last we saw each other.” The magizoologist confesses, eyes cautiously peering into the heterochromic ones of Grindelwald. Neither of them notice when Vinda slips out of the room -- she knows her Lord needs space and peace to intricately weave his words into another’s mind.

The Dark Lord makes a sound of agreement, then proceeds to explain, “You see, I’ve looked into you after our… encounter in America. I admit I was only curious at first as to why Albus was so taken with you that he would valiantly defend you from expulsion, but then, I realized your potential, Mr. Scamander.”

Newt holds his breath and waits for the Dark wizard to continue. He doesn't dare interrupt.

“Who in this world would sacrifice so much for creatures that many deem to be beneath them and for what reason? It has been a long time since I have come across someone as dedicated as yourself to any cause. You want a better world, a world that will readily accept the wondrous nature of these beasts, but you must realize that world will not come to actualization without some sort of action, do you not?”

The magizoologist swallows audibly, managing to stay the trembling in his hands slightly, before he replies, “Perhaps, but that does not mean I would agree with the subjugation of any human being, regardless of their magical prowess.”

“Is that what they have been saying about me? Oh, how foolish.” The Dark Lord chuckles. “I do not seek tyranny over the non-magical, my boy. They are not lesser, simply of other value. I want to assimilate the magical and non-magical communities, so we can be free to be who were are, without fear of revealing ourselves and suffering the consequences of inane laws. There is no need for unnecessary bloodshed--”

Grindelwald pauses for a moment when he sees a disbelieving and affronted look flash over his soulmate’s face, “--but yes, some must perish in order for there to be change. Wouldn’t you want a world where your beasts can roam without worry of being hunted for sport or salvaged for parts? I-- no, _we_ can make that happen.”

Newt has to break eye contact with the man because that is the only thing he truly desires. He is silent.

“Tell me, Newt, does my magic lie to you?” Grindelwald grasps his scarred hands again and it is such a contrast between unmarred hands and his own. The younger wizard lets out a small breath as he feels another pulse of magic run through their connection -- the sensation is an intense mixture of comfort, sincerity, and passion that he almost snaps his hands away immediately. The Dark Lord’s grip is firm, however. “Am I lying to you?”

The younger man has great difficulty coming up with a reply and Grindelwald knows why. It’s a feeling that reverberates deep within Newt’s chest -- something he tries desperately to ignore -- because the redhead realizes that Grindelwald is not lying; he has not lied the entire conversation. It didn’t mean that Newt could trust a word he was saying, the Dark Lord is known to twist his words, known to have a silver-tongue, capable of persuading almost anyone; he knows that he must still be vigilant.

At the same time, it is _so difficult_ and somehow, everything feels so utterly _right_ when he’s in Grindelwald’s presence. The blonde continues speaking -- voice hypnotic as ever -- eyes fixated on Newt’s softer face, whose gaze is still averted.

“Not to mention, what would your _dear Ministry_ think of your soulmate being none other than Gellert Grindelwald?” Newt sneaks a glance at him. The sneer on Grindelwald’s face is filled with disgust and reality hits the magizoologist with the force of a charging Hippogriff. “Do you think they will idly stand by and let you go on your merry way? Or do you think they’ll imprison you, leave you to suffer in a cage, and then torture you? And what of your case, Mr. Scamander? They’ll use everything at their disposal against me, including you and anything you treasure.”

Green eyes widen and freeze at the cuff of his shirt, where their hands are still intertwined. He retracts his arm abruptly, stumbling to his feet -- almost growing dizzy from the vertigo -- and stutters, “No-- uh-- I can’t-- I can’t do this right now. If-- if you’ll excuse me...”

Newt grabs his coat, flings it around his shoulders, and flees the building without another word. His heart flutters because the cold, hard truth is staring at him in the face:

_Grindelwald let him leave._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the delay in updates! I've been juggling my 3rd year in college, along with finding an internship, so it's been hectic. Please don't doubt that I will eventually update this fic though. I honestly love it way too much. <3
> 
> That being said, thank you so much for everyone's patience and love! Hope you enjoyed this chapter :3


	5. Shades of Yellow

He's running down the cobblestone, but it doesn't feel fast enough to escape the reality of what has only just transpired. Newt abruptly halts, leaning on his knees, heaving for breath that doesn't seem to fill his lungs. A hand travels up to wipe the sweat that has gathered on his brow; it isn't until said limb jerks away a second later that he realizes he's crying. He wipes his eyes furiously with his coat sleeve. Newt has never been one to cry easily, but he cannot deny how energetic and relaxed his magic feels at this singular moment. There's such a morbid fascination forming in his mind and it's painful to acknowledge because this is the most alive he's felt in months, and yet he knows that eventually, he will have to process it. There isn't a better time to do it, especially while no one else is around, so he attempts to calm his breathing, slow his heart rate, and tries to sift through the information he's been presented with.

He wonders if his friends and family will still want anything to do with him once they find out that Grindelwald is his soulmate. He wonders if Theseus is obligated to tell the Ministry of said connection, since Grindelwald is Europe's most sought after Dark Wizard. Theseus has always been duty-bound, his sense of justice and his inherent need to abide the law causes Newt to worry. Newt knows that his older brother loves him, wants the best for him, but he also knows that what Theseus thinks is the best for him hardly ever agrees with his own standards of morality. The green-eyed wizard bites his lower lip in trepidation. He hates the Ministry -- he truly does -- their abhorrent methods of dealing with potential threats and problems unnerves him, like how they insisted on sending the world's cruelest beast hunter after a desperate young man, who only seeks a loving family. Newt intuitively understands that they will apply the same policies to his case as well -- Grindelwald spoke the truth in that regard. He continues to worry his lip, the skin growing red and vaguely bruised underneath the pressure of tenacious teeth.

He thinks about the Obscurial boy -- so young, but so frayed at the edges, worn down by the abuse of a woman who was supposed to look after him, to care for him, to nurture him -- Newt grieves at the thought of his upbringing. He thinks if the wizarding society were not forced into the underground and sworn to secrecy that such a scenario would have never arisen. At the same time, he realizes that most non-magical people are not so… accepting; Jacob may be an anomaly amongst them. He's seen their interactions with those with different skin colours, those of other romantic inclinations -- not to mention the Salem witch trials -- and he doubts that a union between the two communities could ever be peaceful. Maybe, just maybe, a strong and charismatic pioneer can usher in a new era with success. Queenie and Jacob would never be prosecuted for wanting to be together -- such backwards laws the Americans have enforced -- and Newt struggles to dissuade himself of Grindelwald's beliefs.

The redhead isn't quite sure he believes that his soulmate actually desires to change the world's outlook on magical creatures, even if he wishes from the bottom of his heart that those words were true. Despite the inner workings of his mind, he still can't shake the feeling that the older man spoke no lies. He wonders if a soulmate bond is sufficient to uncover spoken falsehoods -- it's something he has yet to come across in literature or old wives' tales. He wishes that he had the foresight to ask Theseus about the matter, but it's too late for that now. Newt finds himself hard-pressed not to believe the words that Grindelwald had spouted.

Somehow through all his ponderings, he ends up in a sparsely populated city square with a Wallace fountain in the middle. To his surprise, Newt finds his gaze meeting the equally surprised face of Queenie, who has just stepped out of the entrance to the French Ministry of Magic. The blonde rushes over, as quickly as her heels allow her to, and she envelopes him in a warm embrace. She seems overly distressed. The magizoologist still isn't one for physical contact, but he relaxes a tiny bit in her hug.

"Oh, Newt, honey, I'm so glad I bumped into you." She mutters. When she pulls back, her eyes shimmer with tears. Newt returns her look with a soft smile. "I've been so lost here, you know? Paris is a whole lot bigger than I thought. I've been looking for Tina… but well, you know the whole scuffle between us."

"Actually, I managed to find Tina, and Jacob is here with me as well." The female makes a happy noise at his statement, clapping her hands in excitement. "I think Tina has been searching for Credence here, but come to think of it, I don't think we're on particularly good terms right now…"

"You can be so oblivious, sweetie. I guess that's part of your charm though." Newt waits patiently for her explanation, blankly staring at the Legilimens. He has an idea about what she is hinting at, but Newt would rather Queenie state it plainly. The blonde gives a small sigh, but a fond smile graces her lips as she does, "She likes you, silly!"

The redhead feigns confusion, "I should hope that friends like each other…"

Queenie lets out a laugh that tinkles like bells. Her delicate hand pats the swell of his cheek. "I meant romantically, Newt."

A look of enlightenment crosses over his face and everything he's feared is confirmed: the letters, the constant invitations to return to New York, her inexplicable bitterness towards him since they've reunited in France. He knows Tina is a wonderful woman and any other man would  be lucky to have her as a significant other, but he simply can't return her affections because he's always had a predilection for men -- not to mention the Erumpent constantly on his mind: his soulmate. His cheeks flush and Queenie catches the tail end of his thoughts.

"... Oh, you don't feel the same way." He jerks back from her touch and he tries to dismiss all notions of soulmates from his mind as they are prone to surface whenever someone mentions any sort of romantic relationship, and this garners him a befuddled stare from the woman, the space between her brows furrowing. He avoids her gaze and shakes his head, not wanting to talk about it. She respects his decision, but she also can't help but wonder if Newt was saving himself for his soulmate despite the unlikeliness of actually meeting. She sends a shaky smile his way and attempts to dispel the awkward air. "Well, should we head off to rejoin my dear sister and Jacob?"

Newt's face is one of relief as he agrees. As they head back, black banners descend upon Paris, only visible to those with magic, and the two friends realize that it's Grindelwald's call to rally for his supporters. On the wall of a building nearby, he sees the image of a raven unfurl with a map to Père Lachaise Cemetery. Queenie and him exchange a look; there's no doubt in his mind that anyone who's important to the cause will be present. With Grindelwald's pursuit of Credence, Newt is sure the boy will be in attendance as well. The two race off to reconvene at Flamel's house.

* * *

Unfortunately for the portly Muggle baker, Newt has forgotten to pick up any food for the man in all the chaos. He is greeted by Jacob's disappointed face as he strides through the door -- an apology is on the tip of Newt's tongue -- but he visibly brightens at the sight of Queenie, cheeks straining with happiness. All thoughts of food leave his mind. The man is currently nursing a bump on his head, and Newt distinctly notices the lack of the man that had trapped them in the sewers earlier. The dark-skinned wizard must have escaped by taking Jacob by surprise. Queenie and Jacob embrace each other tightly -- eager to seek comfort -- and both looking like they want to cry.

"Jacob! Oh, honey, I'm so sorry. I never should've said those things. I love you so much--" Queenie starts.

The short man replies, "And you know I love you, right?"

Unfortunately, there are more pressing issues at hand, so Newt must regrettably interrupt. Green eyes glance around for the missing party in their reunion and Newt asks, "Sorry, but… where's Tina?"

Jacob fidgets a bit, seemingly nervous, "Oh, uh, she left shortly after you, Newt. Something about heading off to the Ministry."

The magizoologist looks thoughtful, like he's considering her reasoning for leaving so suddenly and abandoning Jacob to fend for himself while there was a wizard with unknown intentions on the premises. Queenie just appears to be worried for the safety of her sister, especially with Grindelwald's rally on the horizon. There's something incorporeal tugging at the corners of his mind, but Newt ignores it as he says, "Grindelwald is calling all his followers to the Lestrange Mausoleum tonight. If we hope to find Tina, I have no doubt she will be there looking for Credence."

The blonde witch shoots him a nervous glance. She's heard too many rumours about the terrible deeds of the Dark Lord's disciples -- she hopes Tina won't be there in the heat of things, but she also knows her sister all too well.

When darkness begins to descend upon Paris, the three of them head out.

* * *

 

To her surprise, Tina runs into Britain's Head Auror at the French Ministry and the two realize they have similar interests regarding Grindelwald and Credence. He introduces himself as Theseus Scamander, Newt's older brother in the flesh, and beside him is the pretty woman who she's been jealous of for months, Leta Lestrange. It bothers her that Leta is overtly "friendly" with her so-called fiancé's brother -- the hand delicately laying atop his bicep, the smitten doe eyes she turns on to Theseus -- she is disgusted that this woman has the guts to do something so horrendous to a sweet man like Newt. As if the dark-skinned woman can feel her hatred, her gaze swivels to meet Tina's, confusion sparkling in her rich brown eyes. The American snubs the other woman by ignoring her questioning look and focusing on Theseus. She doesn't like the man much either because he seems to accept Leta's affections without question, but at least he has something interesting to say.

The British wizard wears a more serious disposition as soon as he mentions Grindelwald, "Ms. Goldstein, I believe I know where Grindelwald and his following are going to be convening."

Tina raises a dark eyebrow, unsure of where the Auror received his intel from -- something that he is quick to notice and address.

"Leta found this note in place of the Lestrange family records at the Ministry archives." Theseus shows the parchment with the Deathly Hallows symbol -- Grindelwald's sigil -- atop of it and a brief message detailing that the document has been moved to Père Lachaise.

"Everyone seems to think that Credence is the lost son of the Lestrange family, is there any possibility there's some truth to--" The brunette begins asking, but an acerbic voice cuts through the conversation.

"No." The shorter woman's brows are furrowed in anger and she raps her clenched fist on his chest. "My brother is dead. He died."

Her fiancé places a comforting hand on her shoulder as he speaks, "I know, Leta." The former Slytherin swivels to face him, her hand gripping the sleeve of his jacket, knuckles white. "I know and the records-- the records will prove it. They can't lie."

"If that's the case, then who is he?" Tina thinks out loud, her voice quiet and unsure. Leta shakes her head and tells her that she doesn't know the answer to that question. "I never asked, but I assume Newt is probably here to track down Credence as well… He needs to know."

The American Auror wants to inform the other Scamander of many things, not just Credence's lack of identity as a Lestrange. Her focus is drawn back to reality as Theseus lets out a sound of surprise at her statement. In truth, he should have known that Newt would find a way around the international travel ban. "Newt is in Paris?"

"You didn't know?" Tina looks equally shocked when the other Scamander shakes his head.

"He's not even supposed to be traveling internationally. The Ministry banned him after the whole fiasco in New York."

"But-- but that wasn't even his fault!" The American witch is baffled and slightly outraged. Newt's brother gives a sound of agreement. From the raw emotions colouring her voice, Theseus concludes that Tina has some sort of romantic inclination towards his sibling. He blinks slowly as a thought crosses his mind: is she the reason Newt had been asking them about soulmates? If he had met his soulmate in New York, it might have made sense that he had felt weak from being so far apart. He exchanges a glance with his fiancée and instantly, he can tell that she's reached a similar conclusion.

"Well, in all honesty, I should have-- we should have seen this coming, don't you agree, Leta? Newt's never been one for rules."

Leta chuckles amusedly, her face smoothing out as she momentarily forgets the rumours about her dead brother. The engaged couple notice that Tina's furrowed brow at their bantering. The Lestrange witch has never been one to shy away from being upfront with things, so without hesitation, she asks, "Do you have an issue with something, Ms. Goldstein?"

Tina looks a little taken off-guard as she stutters, "Uh, no, not-- not at all..." Leta's insistent stare is enough for her to crack though. "It's just-- aren't you and Newt engaged? And-- and you're here blatantly flirting with his older brother!"

Theseus becomes affronted at her increasing volume, temper hot as usual, but his fiancée is quick to intervene before things spiral out of control. "Oh, no, I fear you've been mistaken. Newt and I aren't-- we've never been engaged. It's Theseus and I who are to wed. Newt is to be best man."

The American Auror's face reddens at the misunderstanding. She abashedly averts her gaze and mutters out an apology. Theseus is silently glad that Leta is his better half and isn't as quick to rise to a fight as he is because he knows if he was allowed to act freely, there might have been an international incident.

"You fancy him, don't you?" Leta slyly adds, a mischievous grin sliding over her face. Tina only gets more flushed at her accusation, but doesn't refute.

A couple of moments of silence pass, before it's broken by the older Scamander brother, "Well, I hate to get serious amidst all the teasing, but nighttime is falling and we should make our way towards Père Lachaise." He ushers the two females to go ahead without him; he still needs to organize his Aurors for the raid tonight.

* * *

Tina recognizes the man that had deceived her and trapped her in an underground passage when Leta and her walk through the entrance of the Lestrange tomb. She spots Credence and a thin Asian woman huddling in the corner, looking afraid at the wand pointed toward them. The pale woman is standing slightly in front of Credence, protective. They have arrived just in time, it seems.

"I do not wish to kill you, but if you insist on getting in the way, I will do what I must." Kama explains, "You see, either you die, Credence... or I do."

Leta hurriedly exclaims, "WAIT!"

A spell had been on the tip of Kama's tongue, but he halts and turns to face the newcomers. His features morph into shock. "Is that you? My sister?"

The aforementioned witch is confused, but she doesn't bat an eyelash at his question. "He is not who you think he is..." She seems pained to admit this.

"So, is it true? I am... Corvus Lestrange?" Credence tests the name out, but the dark-skinned female shakes her head.

"No, my brother is dead."

Kama stares at her, disbelievingly. "But it is like the Predictions of Tycho Dodonus said, 'a son cruelly banished, despair of the daughter, return, great avenger with wings from the water.' There--" The Senegalese man gestures towards Leta, before continuing on his tirade, "-- stands the despairing daughter. You are the winged raven returned from the sea, but I-- I am the avenger of my family's ruin."

Leta refuses to her anymore talk of Corvus and finally, she explodes with a despaired scream, "My brother is already dead! I _killed_ him!"

Her sobs echo throughout the stone room as she reiterates how she switched infants on the sinking ship, only for her brother to be swept under the current and drown. The image of a babe clothed in a white sheet conjures and everyone watches as it slowly descends deeper into the ocean. Kama finally lowers his wand, looking dejected that he could not fulfill his promise to his late father.

Tina can see the desperation in Credence's eyes when he asks, "Then who am I if I am not Corvus Lestrange? Do you know?"

The Lestrange woman is astute and realizes his need for an identity, but she cannot provide the answer he seeks. The woman accompanying him gently strokes his back in comfort. In the fallout, the ominous scraping of a hidden door opening resounds throughout, garnering everyone's attention. They can all hear the booming of the masses gathering in the auditorium beneath them. Glances are exchanged between those present, before they cautiously descend the stairs.

The auditorium is filled with wizards and witches alike, from all different nationalities. The chatter is deafening. Somehow the group that had entered together split up and is now scattered across the mausoleum. Leta and Tina are still together, looking around, one of them anxious and the other worried.

"Teenie!" A cheerful voice calls to her over the gathered audience; it's Queenie, and Jacob is next to her. They're standing in one of the rows of benches, arms intertwined, right by the aisle of stairs leading down to the centre. Tina doesn't need Legilimency to know her sister is sorry for leaving so abruptly after their argument. "We thought we might find you here."

"Queenie." The elder Goldstein lets out a sigh of relief at the sight of her. The sisters embrace tightly, Jacob is tittering off on the side, his eyes darting back and forth between the magical folk. Leta smiles slightly at their reunion. "I don't suppose you've come with Newt, have you?"

"Oh, he was here... We lost track of him, but he's around somewhere..." Queenie trails off thoughtfully as she glances around, but she can't see their redheaded friend -- there's simply too many people. She takes notice of the dark-skinned witch standing awkwardly -- and somehow, still regal -- next to Tina. "Miss Lestrange, right? I'm Queenie, Teenie's sister. And this is Jacob."

Leta appears surprised at the introduction, but she greets the Legilimens and the Muggle cordially. Jacob jolts, suddenly remembering that he has friends surrounding him. He shakes the British woman's hand.

"Nice to meet you."

The four of them realize that there are a couple of wizards, probably part of Grindelwald's movement, eyeing them intently, dauntingly approaching them, and wordlessly pushing them into a row with others. They attempt to avoid the goons, but the group of brutish wizards have fenced them in, and now they have no choice but to step in line. Leta catches sight of Newt across the way, both of their eyes widening slightly. Newt is blocked in by some important-looking wizards and witches, unable to move.

The auditorium falls silent as footsteps echo throughout the mausoleum, each step with purpose and meaning. Grindelwald emerges from the darkness of a corridor. Applause and cheering slowly build up from the audience until the man reaches the stage. They quieten down again as he begins speaking, "My brothers, my sisters, my friends... The great gift of your applause is not for me." Sounds of disapproval emit from the crowd. "No, it is for yourselves."

"You came today because of a craving and a knowledge that the old ways serve us no longer. You come today because you crave something new, something different." The Dark Lord's voice is captivating, like a priest is at a sermon, "It is said that I hate Les Non-Magiques. The Muggles. The No-Maj. The Can't-Spells."

The crowd jeers and hisses, yelling obscenities about the non-magical, but the man at the centre of attention is quick to dispel their uproar.

"I do not hate them; I do not. For I do not fight out of hatred. I say that the Muggles are not lesser, but other. Not worthless, but of other value. Not disposable, but of a different disposition." A beat passes. "Magic blooms only in rare souls. It is granted to those who live for higher things. Oh, and what a world we could make, for all humanity. We who live for freedom--" Grindelwald stares pointedly at the magizoologist -- something that worries Leta to no end because the man is planning something -- before continuing, "-- for truth, and most importantly, for love."

Queenie lets out a soft noise and none of them are sure how to interpret it.

"While I was held captive by MACUSA, they spent hours each day for weeks, torturing me for information. What kind of 'good' or 'just' institution would do such barbaric things?"

Newt recalls those days with a sickening dread settling in his stomach. And yet, he did nothing to stop it either -- not that he could anyway.

Grindelwald lifts his arms, gesturing to the masses. "Things that they have previously claimed that I am not adverse to, that we are not adverse to. They are an institution built upon lies. MACUSA is not the only one, of course. All these Ministries around the world are alike. And yet, they are quick to insinuate that we are the ones in the wrong. I say, it is not we!"

The room erupts into loud agreement. Vinda appears behind him, carrying an ominous looking skull with a hookah attached to it. Grindelwald announces that he is going to share a vision he had seen of the future. The Dark Lord takes the proffered skull, inhales deeply, and breathes out a plume of smoke. The picture that is painted by the smoke is absolutely terrifying. It's a massacre. Dead bodies litter the ground and at the centre of the room, a hefty explosion shakes the ground. They all stare in horror. Murmurs break out.

"That is what we are fighting! Their arrogance, their lust for power, their savagery. How long before they turn their weapons against us?" His mismatched eyes glint in the dim lighting and he cautions the crowd, "Do not be alarmed. There are Aurors among us."

There is a wave of shocked gasps, people frantically looking at their neighbours, fearing that the enemy was close. "My brothers, step into the light. Join us."

Despite being on different sides of the amphitheatre, Newt, Tina, and Leta can see Theseus and his gaggle of Aurors begrudgingly move toward Grindelwald. They see the Head Auror say something to his team, but they are too far away to make sense of it. The man smirks. One of the younger wizards has his hand laying on top of where his wand is sheathed, a nervous tick giving away his anxiety. There is a young copper-haired woman standing in the front row, her eyes are narrowed in anger and the pale-haired man knows he can take advantage of the two of them.

"They have killed many of my followers, it is true. They have struck down many of their fellow witches and wizards for the simple crime of seeking the truth, for wanting freedom. Your anger -- your need for revenge -- is natural." The witch he had been eyeing moves to whip out her wand, but the Auror is ready, and the girl drops dead to the floor. Grindelwald makes a sound of despair as he stalks towards the fallen body. He kneels beside her, arranges her limbs, and strokes her hair, tucking a bright-coloured strand behind her rapidly cooling ear."My poor child."

He stands up from his position, striding back to the stage, and there is an undertone of rage when he speaks again, "Go! Go and spread the word that it was not we who committed such atrocious actions this night." The sound of Apparition thrums as wizards and witches disappear one after another. The British Aurors move on Theseus' command, ready to take the man by force. Grindelwald spins in a circle, muttering a spell, _"Protego diabolica."_ Scorching blue flames emerge from his wand tip and many of those that remain flinch back from the heat.

"Aurors, join me in this circle. Pledge to me your eternal allegiance. Only here shall you know freedom, only here shall you know yourself. Join me... or die." The man states. He is pleased when he sees a couple of them run through the flames, unharmed. Vinda marches to join him in the circle, looking smug. The Dark Lord waves the Elder Wand as if he were conducting a symphony. Some of the Aurors that had come with Theseus try to Apparate, but just as they look like they are successful, streams of fire hit their bodies, ash trickling down. "Play by the rules, children."

There is a wicked grin stretching Grindelwald's lips. Krall attempts to walk through the flames, only to burn up with a screech of pain. Neither Grindelwald nor Rosier are surprised. Now, the only ones that are left are Newt, still standing too far from the rest of them, Tina, Leta, Queenie, Jacob, Theseus, Kama, Credence, and Nagini. Queenie seems mildly hypnotized by Grindelwald's words, but Jacob snaps her out of it with ease. Tina shoots him a grateful look. The flames continue to dance and spread, forcing many of them to retreat back. Credence struggles with his friend for a brief moment before he breaks away from her grasp and approaches Grindelwald. He stops just shy of the flaming circle.

"Credence, my boy." He gestures grandly with his arms spread wide open. "You know I have the answers you seek. Come with me and I will instill this knowledge upon you."

The Barebone teenager glances over his shoulder at Nagini, his one friend in this world, but the offer is too tempting. Finally, he takes the last couple of steps and passes through the flames without issue. Vinda takes his arm and Apparates. Newt and Tina stare at where he once stood, gazes heavy with sadness. Theseus jogs up to where the group is, spotting his brother a ways away.

"Newt..." Theseus whispers, perpetually worried for him; the same look is reflected back to him on his brother's face. Everyone's attention returns to the Dark Lord who has yet to leave. That smirk has not left his face and they eye him with varying degrees of distrust. The blue flames he has summoned surround them, crackling ferociously as the heat threatens to flay them alive. The older Scamander brother moves to join Newt, but a wall of fire interrupts his gait; he can see the look of glee that spreads over Grindelwald's face. Theseus realizes that Grindelwald has some ulterior motive regarding his sibling. His face conveys his horror and his blue eyes search frantically for a route to Newt.

"Mr. Scamander, do you think Dumbledore will mourn for you?" This question stirs everything into a frenzy, both in the mausoleum in Newt's mind.

"Newt! Grindelwald is up to something--!" Theseus warns, but before he can finish, the wizard has already Apparated next to Newt. The younger British man's head turns slowly, too slowly for Theseus' liking, to face the other. Newt's breath hitches in surprise at his soulmate's sudden appearance. Grindelwald isn't rough when he grabs his forearm -- dare he even say, gentle? -- the heat from his grip is comforting, familiar, and it takes all of Newt's willpower to resist leaning into the other's touch. When they are standing this close to each other, they can see opposing pupils dilate as a wave of pleasure washes over them and their breathing deepens in unison. A tear slides down the swell of Newt's cheek at the sensation. It is exhilarating to be in the same vicinity of each other and it's as if time has temporarily halted as they share a look that says more than words ever could. It's as if the Dark wizard knows exactly what effect such close proximity and physical contact has on the magizoologist, but he cannot deny how liberating it feels, how power courses through his veins like lightning. Lightning so similar to, yet completely different on so many levels, from the electricity that ran through him in New York a mere nine months ago. A shiver runs down the redhead's spine and his green eyes flutter shut for a second longer than he would have liked.

The moment is broken by Theseus' enraged yelling, a nasty snarl on his face, a hint of confusion at their mysterious exchange, "Get away from my brother, your narcissistic bastard! I swear if you hurt him--"

The older Scamander furiously slams spell after spell at the flames that barricade him in, completely in vain because every ounce of magic he shoots out is neutralized by them, as he tries to reach his sibling. Grindelwald doesn't even spare Theseus a glance, the corners of his mouth tilting upward as he maintains eye contact with the redhead in front of him.

"NEWT!" Theseus is terrified that he is going to watch him die in from of him and he won't have been able to do anything about it. His voice, brittle with emotion, is getting hoarser with every shout that escapes his mouth. He can hear a cacophony of other voices joining him in calling out to Newt. He is not the only one who cares for the magizoologist, after all.

"Run, Newt!" Tina screams from across the auditorium, horror abject across her face and desperate to grab his attention. She cannot lose him after coming so close to saving Credence, only for him to step through the fiery barrier. Leta's voice joins hers.

Leta yells, "No! Grindelwald, stop! Please--" Her voice breaks, the plead on the tip of her tongue. She almost wants to beg the Dark Lord to take her instead. _Not Newt, anyone but him_.

Grindelwald simply bares his teeth in an imitation of a smile at them. He brushes a strand of hair behind the freckled man's ear, caressing the others cheek in the process, before leaning into whisper in said ear, "What is your answer, Mr. Scamander? Did I lie to you?"

Newt feels mildly intoxicated when he feels the other's breath against his earlobe. He can't think straight, he can't remember anyone besides his soulmate, but he remembers what they had discussed only hours ago. He remembers the promises that Grindelwald made and his stipulations about the Ministry's abuse of power if they were to discover his intimate connection with the Dark Lord.

Newt hesitates briefly, swallowing down his fear and his tongue darts out to wet his lips, but he finally has a response for the man, "... No. No, you weren't lying." His free hand clasps at the smooth fingers of his soulmate and they both can feel their magic co-mingling and swelling in vigour now that Newt has accepted his fate, regardless of his reservations. The blue flames surge as a result of an increase of magical force, becoming even more wild and uncontrollable in nature. The azure fire obscures them from view of those left in the mausoleum. Grindelwald takes the opportunity to retreat back slightly and plant a solitary kiss on the younger's cheek -- merely a brush of lips. Newt lets out a shocked noise that turns into one of appreciation as he feels the thrum of power coursing through his body.

Gellert pulls back fully, hands interlaced with each other and Newt's glowing green eyes on him, The Dark Lord asks, "Shall we?" He takes care to dispel the protective spell before he Apparates the two of them out.

When the flames dissipate, there is no trace of the two that once stood there and screams of Newt's name echo in the empty amphitheatre.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys can find me on Tumblr for updates on this fic and possibly others! @kuro-gossips


	6. Shades of Red

Theseus collapses to his knees, tears streaming down his face -- thinking either Newt has disintegrated in the fire or that the Dark Lord has him in his possession -- and he’s not entirely sure which situation is worse. Leta is by his side immediately, a delicate arm wrapped around his shoulders and whispering comforting things -- there are tear tracks on her cheeks too. Even if they had been estranged since Newt’s expulsion from Hogwarts, they were best friends at one point.

“Oh, Theseus…” She buries her head in his shoulder and they hold each other in dire need of comfort. His arm is still reaching out for his brother, the air cruelly cold compared to the heat from before.

“He-- he can’t have--” Theseus sobs messily -- he’s not even sure what he’s trying to convey at this point, but his fiancée is there and she needs no words to understand what he is going through. Queenie is off to the side, Jacob and her sniffling quietly. The American Auror looks catatonic, brown eyes still staring at the spot where Newt had been only mere minutes ago.

Suddenly, she snaps out of her reverie, fists clenching and teeth gritting. “What could Grindelwald want Newt for? It doesn’t make any sense.” Tina thinks that after that display of ‘affection’ from the Dark Lord, there is no way he would have killed Newt. The man does everything for a reason, even if it’s not blatantly obvious to them now.

Unfortunately, everyone present is just as confused as she is. Theseus can’t help but remember how  _ tender _ the Dark Lord had seemed with Newt. The man’s reputation most definitely precedes him and he thinks it’s too odd for Grindelwald to act so far out of character. He mutters, “Did you notice Grindelwald’s behaviour? It seemed… off.”

“I agree. Grindelwald definitely had something planned for Newt. But I don’t think any of us realized what those plans were.” The Lestrange witch admits; she feels slightly guilty she didn’t act on her intuition. And now Newt is gone. “He managed to weasel his way into Newt’s mind somehow; he must have promised something.”

Theseus hears the quiet shuffling and a squeak of a small creature nearby in the grass. Newt’s Niffler pops out; the black furred beast is limping, one leg charred and bleeding. He looks sadly up at the elder Scamander, as if he knows exactly how the human is feeling. His small clawed paws reach into the pouch of his stomach and pulls out a small silver trinket. The Niffler offers it to Theseus, almost in consolation. The wizard sweeps the creature up because it is his last reminder of Newt and takes the proffered pendant. Theseus whispers a small healing spell for the creature’s burned leg. At the centre is a glass sphere with two drops of what appears to be blood. Heart clenching, he concludes that this must be a blood pact and he realizes that this is the reason why Dumbledore hasn’t been able to join the fight against the Dark Lord. He needs to confront the Hogwarts professor with the newly discovered information. He knows that the two men had a deep connection at when they were teenagers. Theseus dangles the pendant in front of his fiancée’s gaze.

Chestnut eyes squint as she inspects the intricate silver piece. “Impossible… Is that-- is that a blood pact? This is very complex magic, Theseus.”

“Yes, it is. I think Newt’s Niffler grabbed it off Grindelwald. I recall seeing it attached to his coat.” The British wizard informs her. The rest of them stew in reticence, wondering about Newt’s fate -- there is nothing left to do, but to pick up the shattered remains of their emotions.

* * *

 

Gellert and Newt appear in the heart of the Nurmengard castle; Vinda is waiting to greet them, “Welcome, my Lord, Mr. Scamander.”

Newt’s face flushes at the attention from Grindelwald’s second-in-command -- it further reddens when he realizes that his soulmate’s fingers are still interlaced with his. He lightly pulls back his hand, something that garners Grindelwald’s attention for a split second, before his gaze returns back to Vinda.

“Please prepare a room for Mr. Scamander.” Vinda nods her assent and leaves with a curt bow.

Newt mouths out, “Newt.” The other wizard turns to look at him, confusion colouring his face. “I would prefer to be called ‘Newt’ or ‘Newton,’ if you must.”

“Ah, of course. I suppose you’ve never had a penchant for authority.” The man with mismatched eyes smiles gently -- more gently than the magizoologist has ever seen and perhaps he did make the right choice of coming with his soulmate -- Grindelwald leads the way to the kitchen with a light hand on the younger’s elbow. Newt’s stomach does a small flip at the sensation. “This way… Newton. Would you care for some tea?”

The redhead perks up at the mention of his beverage of choice, “That would be lovely. I don’t suppose you have some ginger lemon?” It feels oddly natural for him to slip into a comfortable pace with Grindelwald. He thinks he understands what Theseus and Leta meant by the soulmate bond being profound. His thoughts take an abrupt halt. His brother and his friends had completely slipped from his mind. Tears well up in the corner of his emerald eyes slightly. He wonders what they must think of him; whether they’re confused or upset, maybe both. The palm on his elbow trails to his lower back and nudges him out of his thoughts.

“I know this must be difficult for you to come to terms with, Newton; leaving your friends and family behind is no easy feat. You know it had to be done though.” Newt slowly nods his head. He’s glad that his soulmate is able to grasp his inner conflict with such ease. He flashes an appreciative lilt of lips at Grindelwald, whose face softens at the sight. He waves his hand, performing wandless magic to heat up some water and to retrieve a tea set from the cupboard lining the side of the room.

Grindelwald seems to have a new fondness for lightly caressing Newt because he takes every opportunity to initiate physical contact; Newt can’t figure out his motivations for it for the life of him, but a pleased hum of magic runs through him every time it happens. In a scant couple of minutes, the two of them are sipping on some ginger lemon tea, soothing Newt’s stomach that keeps coiling like an angry snake has settled within it.

The light-haired man interrupts the peace, “Would it be too forward to ask more about my soulmate?”

Newt starts at the sudden noise. His gaze darts back and forth, skillfully avoiding making eye contact. “There’s not much to know.” He confesses with a mumble, but Grindelwald has read his file and he knows that the truth is quite the contrary.

“Nonsense. Tell me about your expulsion from Hogwarts.” Grindelwald prompts, clasping his hands on the table. “It’s not everyday that an expelled student gets to keep their wand and regardless, to be able to perform such intricately woven magic like I’ve seen in your suitcase.”

The British wizard hesitantly begins his tale of the incident with a magical creature under his and Leta’s care, that the witch had let loose onto one of the girl’s that had gone a step too far with bullying Newt. He tells how she passed all the blame on him, after they had agreed to split the burden between them. He tells of how hurt he felt when he realized that his only friend had betrayed him in such a way. Bitter tears gather, his face wrinkling to match the ache in his heart, even after all the years that have passed, the blow has not lessened in any way. His soulmate’s hands grasp his in comfort, enveloping him in a warmth that he’s rarely felt. Although Newt has never been one for physical contact, he can’t help but take a liking to the other man’s touch. He’s never been comfortable with affection, even within his own family.

He details how Dumbledore had stepped in and advocated his case, which ultimately allowed him to keep his wand and how he had excelled under private tutelage outside of Hogwarts, more so than he ever had at the school.

“I do apologize for taking things too much at face value last year in New York. I do hope you understand my urgency with pursuing Credence at the time.” Grindelwald murmurs, voice a bit cautious as he broaches the topic. The redhead is mildly surprised that the man has shown remorse about the brutal magic he had cast in the subway tunnels, but it is not the first time that the famed Dark wizard has shocked him tonight. Suddenly, his eyes are met head on with green ones -- it is the one time that Newt has made to match his gaze.

“If I may ask, what exactly are you plans in regards to Credence?” The copper haired man’s face does nothing to hide his concern regarding the Obscurial boy. His eyebrows are drawn up and recede underneath his fringe, eyes wide and assessing the man in front of him. “I thought you sought him merely for his power as an Obscurus, but you mentioned knowing his identity in Paris.”

“Ah, yes. It is a little complicated with Credence. I was hoping you would come with me for this reason -- you are a much gentler hand than I.” Grindelwald starts, pale blue and deep chestnut eyes staring imploringly at him. Newt is confused, but he awaits further explanation. “I am not sure how aware you are of my past with Albus, but this story begins there…”

It is the Dark Lord’s turn to share his backstory with the magizoologist. Newt learns about the intimate details of their relationship and it’s almost unbelievable how deep their connection ran. He learns about their tragic fallout and the death of Dumbledore’s younger sister, who also happened to be an Obscurial. She had suppressed her magic to fit in with the local children, only for it to turn inwards on her. Gellert reveals that he believes Credence has the potential to be an incredibly powerful wizard due to his lineage as a Dumbledore.

“What?” The younger man exclaims, emerald eyes wide in disbelief. “You think him related to Albus?”

Grindelwald lets out a sound of agreement, “Not in the typical manner. When Ariana passed, her magic lashed out viciously and went rampant. I know it sounds incredulous, but it shot up into the sky like a beam after destroying the Dumbledore home. We have no idea of its fate, but when I set my eyes upon Credence’s Obscurus form in New York… Somehow, I knew. It had the same signature as Ariana’s.”

“So you believe that Credence is a manifestation of Ariana’s magical core?”

“Very intuitive, Newton. Yes, that is exactly what I believe. But Credence is his own person now and with all the abuse at the hands of the Barebones, the Obscurus festered and grew in strength even more. It thrives in the darkest of places, after all.”

“And what could you possibly need me for, in regards to Credence’s care?” Newt asks, confused about his part in the whole situation.

“You are a natural nurturer. You have a mother’s touch.” The magizoologist blushes at the compliment. Grindelwald continues, “Credence needs a guiding hand, but not my own. I am afraid I am not suitable for that role. Newton, you are the perfect person to foster a healthy environment for him -- trust me.”

The redhead is in awe that Grindelwald has so much faith in him, a meagre magizoologist with very little credit to his name. He almost feels like crying because no one --  _ no one _ \-- has ever done so before. Theseus always berated him for his antics with beasts, Leta took advantage of his kindness, his parents disapproved of everything he had ever done. A tear drops from the corner of his eye and the blond-haired man is quick to wipe it away with a thumb. Viridian eyes flicker up and there is such a tender moment that passes between the two wizards. Grindelwald’s palm cups his cheek and Newt enjoys the warmth.

“Not many people are willing to delve deeper than the surface, are they?” More tears gather in Newt’s eyes and all of a sudden, he feels like he understands his soulmate infinitely more. They are kindred spirits in the most rudimentary sense. “I, too, was expelled from Durmstrang. I was a curious boy; I wanted to experiment with Dark magic and instead of steering me in the appropriate direction, the Headmaster decided that I was beyond saving. I know of the struggles you’ve experienced, Newton. I have been in your shoes.”

This time, it is Newt who initiates the contact by grasping Grindelwald’s hand, still on his face. He leans into the other’s touch and his eyes close.

* * *

 

The ragtag group of people gather at the foot of the bridge that crosses over the canyon into Hogwarts. They are joined by Travers, the British equivalent of the Director of Magical Law Enforcement. Queenie’s hand is gripping Jacob’s with surprising strength as she watches Britain’s Head Auror walk towards the middle-aged professor, glancing nervously at Travers standing a couple of feet away.

“Dumbledore.” Theseus and Albus had never gotten along as well as Newt and the professor had, but the elder Scamander had been a good student and had enjoyed learning.

“It is good to see you again, my boy. I assume there is a reason for your visit today?” The man questions, the twinkle in his blue eyes ever present. Theseus doesn’t give a direct answer, but he pulls out the silver trinket from his pocket and hands it over to the older man.

“This is a blood pact, isn’t it? This is the reason you refused to join in the fight against Grindelwald. You couldn’t.” Theseus surmises.

“How-- how did you get a hold of this?” The professor steals the pendant away, looking at it in shock. He never thought he would see this again. The Auror ruefully presents the mischievous Niffler from within the confines of his coat. An amused grin spreads across the man’s lips. Dumbledore finally takes notice that a certain redhead is missing from the group. “And where is Newt?”

“You were the one who sent Newt to Paris, aren’t you? This is all your fault…” Theseus grits his teeth, nearly grinding them together, his voice tainted with bitterness. Dumbledore only looks lost in the face of his accusations.

“Theseus, what-- what happened to Newt?” The professor’s voice trembles slightly when he speaks.

Without any warning, a hand is clutching the collar of his vest, the light brown-haired man’s face is nearly purple with rage, his knuckles a stark white in comparison. He takes a deep inhale, grip slackening slightly. “... Grindelwald has him.”

Dumbledore makes a sound of disbelief. “But why would Grindelwald want Newt?” Except that is the question all of them have been asking themselves for hours and no one has come up with an answer. Theseus averts his gaze, looking longingly into the distance.

“No one knows.” His face takes on a sense of forlornness as he admits this. Dumbledore looks pensive as he considers the possibilities. Theseus snaps out of his thoughts to ask, trying to focus on the matter at hand, “Can you break the blood pact?”

“Maybe.” Dumbledore’s response is unsure, but there is a glimmer of hope in his sapphire eyes. Theseus knows that they will have a better chance at winning with the man on their side.

And maybe -- just maybe -- they can get Newt back with his help.

* * *

 

Later that day, Grindelwald takes Newt o the study, which is currently occupied by Credence. The young man is staring out the large window overlooking the snowy mountaintops with a degree of fascination at the sight. The Dark Lord breaks the black-haired male out of his reverie, “Credence, my boy.”

The Obscurial swirls around, a little startled by his sudden appearance. “Mr. Grindelwald… I didn’t hear you come in.” A shaky and unsure smile graces his lips, but when he notices another presence in the room, the smile melts away. Newt steps out from behind Grindelwald and offers the Barebone boy a comforting look. The other loses some of the tension in his shoulders when he vaguely recognizes the redhead.

“This is Newton. I believe you’ve met before, however brief it may have been. He’s a world-renowned magizoologist--” Newt flushes prettily at this statement. The pale-haired wizard notes the look of confusion on Credence’s face and is quick to append, “--someone who studies magical creatures, but Newton is unique even amongst his peers. You see, he also rescues abandoned and abused creatures, rehabilitates them, then sets them free when possible.”

At Grindelwald’s explanation, Newt is surprised his soulmate knows so much of what he does -- it’s a pleasant surprise. He swears he feels a twinge of faint amusement, but he’s not the one experiencing that emotion, which is perplexing to say the least; he’ll figure it out later, but his focus is solely on Credence now.

“Credence, it’s good to see you well. I thought you had been lost in New York.”

“Mister… Scamander, right?” Black brows are slightly furrowed as he attempts to recall the man’s full name out of politeness, something instilled in him by his adoptive mother. At the other’s affirmation, a small grin spreads over Credence’s lips again.

“G-Gellert told me that you found a baby bird of some sort? May I take a look?” Newt stumbles over his soulmate’s first name, as the Dark wizard had insisted he be called. It flusters the freckled man every time he utters the name. Credence brightens up at the mention of the tiny, grey-feathered bird. He guides the magizoologist to the cardboard box sitting on a nearby table. The redhead peers into the mouth of the box and scoops up the fledgling. It chirps happily as a thumb strokes the top of its head. “Well, aren’t you just a sweetheart? I can tell someone’s been taking good care of you…”

Credence shies away at the older wizard’s nonchalant comment, but the others can see how pleased he is to receive such praise. Newt feels a hint of sadness for the amount of pride that decorates the boy’s face from such a small gesture from a stranger. The dark-haired male mutters a soft ‘thank you’ to the magizoologist. Credence feels slightly awkward with new people and he doesn’t have the comforting presence of Nagini at his side as a buffer. Newt is also not particularly nuanced in social interactions, so he decides to continue on the topic of something more comfortable, “Would you like to meet my creatures?”

The boy is in awe at the question, a lingering disbelief colours his voice. “Can I? Where are they?”

The redhead’s eyes glow as he explains the intricate workings of his suitcase to Credence; his excitement is contagious. The two descend into the brown leather case, wandering through the various habitats as Newt chatters brightly. Credence greedily absorbs all the new information being presented to him. Both of them are so engrossed that they never notice Grindelwald leaving; the Dark Lord is glad to see his judgment regarding Newt and Credence is correct. As the hours tick by, dinnertime approaches and neither of them are anywhere to be found.

When Grindelwald does stumble upon them, the two are lying on the grassy plains with the Mooncalves cuddled up next to them, faces content as they sleep. The blonde begrudgingly nudges Newt awake; Grindelwald says with bemusement, “You fell asleep, Newton.”

His curly copper hair is mussed up and his eyes are slightly out of focus as he stares blankly at his soulmate for a couple of moments before his brain processes what was said. “Oh!” He exclaims as he jumps to his feet and looks around for Credence. The Demiguise had taken an unusually fast liking to the boy and is currently curled up in the crook of his neck. Green eyes soften at the sight. Grindelwald slips his hand into Newt’s, slotting together like lock and key.

“I knew you would be perfect for getting him settled in. You truly do have a talent.” The magizoologist is taken off guard once again by the unexpected compliment. The man with dual coloured eyes mentally notes to dole out more so he becomes well-acquainted with some semblance of confidence. It’s actually ironic that Newt is unable to grasp the parallels between himself and the Obscurial boy. “Credence, it’s time for dinner.”

The wizards can see wisps of black smoke coiling around the edges of his figure as he regains consciousness. He flails around a bit -- a bad habit from his days with Mary Lou -- when he realizes that he fell asleep. Dougal makes a slightly disgruntled noise as he is disturbed from his slumber. Credence cradles the creature close to his body and strokes his fur soothingly. Newt has such a tender look on his face at the young man warming up and acting more carefree. He thinks that perhaps there may be some merit to Grindelwald’s views and methods after all. The redhead’s cheeks redden when he notices Grindelwald staring unabashedly at him. The three men finally head off to fill their empty stomachs; dinner is spent in mostly companionable silence, with spatters of light conversation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your patience with my irregular schedules! I've had this finished on paper for a while, but I finally had a chance to sit down and type it up. Hope you enjoyed it!
> 
> You can follow me on tumblr @kuro-gossips. ^_^


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